


The Old Reach Around

by Nightmarish



Series: Lies By Omission [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family Secrets, Gen, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Parent Trap Challenge, Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmarish/pseuds/Nightmarish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry and Buffy ultimately regret keeping secrets, because normal is overrated and their children are cunning little devils. </p><p>Response to the ancient and best-beloved Parent Trap challenge at Twisting the Hellmouth. With a few twists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Doomed Relationships

_  
_** Of Doomed Relationships **

_In which Harry and Buffy do not make up_

 

+

 

 “Damn it, Buffy, that nearly hit me!”

 

“Next time I won’t miss!”

 

Harry scowled darkly. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, would you just – ”

 

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me to just calm down!”

 

“I was _going_ to tell you to just _shut up_!”

 

“Fuck you, Harry!”

 

“Would it kill you to take a little responsibility for once in your life?” Harry demanded. “Stop acting like a bloody child and grow up!”

 

Buffy slapped him hard across the face. Harry stumbled back at the force of the blow, clutching his injured cheek. Droplets of blood welled up beneath his fingers where her nails had raked the skin.

 

 “Don’t you _ever_ talk to me about responsibility,” Buffy whispered, eyes flashing furiously.  “You know nothing about my life.”

 

“That,” Harry said sharply, wiping the blood off his chin with his shirtsleeve, “is abundantly clear.”

 

Buffy stared at him, her expression ice cold.  "I'm leaving.

 

“Fine. _Fine_. Just…go.”

 

Buffy turned on her heel and stalked down the short, cramped hallway of their rented apartment. The wails emanating from the bedroom only increased in volume as she drew nearer. She threw open the bedroom door, went directly to the closer of the two cribs, and scooped up the squalling infant. Clutching the baby close with one arm, she stuffed an extra blanket into a diaper bag and slung it over her shoulder.

 

Resolutely not looking at the second crib, Buffy turned to leave and found Harry blocking the doorway. His face was unreadable. They locked eyes, but he stayed silent and after a brief standstill she pushed past him into the hall. He didn’t try to stop her, so she kept walking.

 

She paused only to shove her car keys into her purse and grab her jacket from the back of chair.

 

The door clicked gently shut behind her.

 

 

+

 

She made it to the parking lot before she broke down completely.

 

All of her energy suddenly left her, and she had to sit down until the dizzy feeling passed. She sank to the dirty pavement and leaned back against the wheel of her car, her purse and the diaper bag forgotten beside her.

 

 _I left_ , she thought numbly. _It’s over. Done. Finito_.

 

The baby was still screaming, his cries bouncing back against the cars and asphalt. Hot tears prickled at the corners of her own eyes and she hugged him tightly to her chest. Something sharp twisted inside of her heart as she realized that she didn’t even know which son she had left behind. Blinking fiercely, she checked now. There was a tiny ‘S’ embroidered on the corner of the blanket, so that meant it was William she had left with Harry.

 

“Will,” she whispered into his brother’s downy hair. “Oh, god, I left Will.”

 

Quietly, she began to cry.

 

+

 

When the Slayer on duty didn't recognize her, Buffy knew she had stayed away too long.  Adjusting the baby in her arms, Buffy sent the girl a veritable death glare.

 

"Get Giles," she hissed angrily, only the baby finally asleep in her arms stopping her from screaming.

 

"It's four o'clock in the morning," the girl argued stubbornly.  "Mr. Giles is asleep and isn't to be disturbed."

 

Buffy nearly throttled her on the spot.  "I don't care if he's asleep or having tea with Gandi, the Pope, and the Queen of England herself - wake him up!  Tell him Buffy Summers is here to see him!"

 

"Buffy Summers is retired," the girl argued.

 

"Listen up, you little snot, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't even be a slayer.  If you don't call Giles down here _right now_ , I will break every bone in your body and then go and wake him up myself!

 

The girl was beginning to look unsure of herself, and Buffy noticed too late what had to be an  alarm button next to the controls for the voice box, but before either of them could react, a third  figure joined them at the gate.

 

"What the hell is going - B?"  Faith fell back in surprise.

 

"Hi, Faith," Buffy said tiredly.

  
"B!" Faith repeated with a grin.  She moved in as though to hug or punch her - Buffy could never tell which with Faith - but fell back again at the sight of the baby.  Her gaze flickered back up to Buffy’s face.  "Buffy?"

 

"I need Giles," Buffy said, ashamed at the helplessness in her voice.  "Please, I'll explain everything - just -"

 

"Got it." Faith nodded, understanding in her eyes.  "Laura!" she barked, turning to the younger slayer.  "Wake up Mr. Giles and tell him to meet us in the kitchen."

 

Laura hesitated.

 

 _"Now_ ," Faith growled.  The girl ran.

 

Buffy smiled in spite of herself.  "Look at you, all General Faith."

 

They began making their way up to the manor house at a more sedate pace.

 

Faith shrugged.  "Someone had to take the position after you left.  Don't worry: we'll have you striking fear into their little slayer hearts before the week's out."  She grinned, teeth flashing bright in the dark.

 

"Ugh," Buffy said. 

 

Faith laughed suddenly, loud and bright.  "The Chosen Two, together again!  Plus one, of course," she amended, glancing at the baby in Buffy's arm.  "His dad?"

 

"Gone," Buffy said shortly.

 

"Bastard," Faith proclaimed, with conviction.

 

Buffy didn't bother correcting her.

 

+

 

By the time Harry made it to Ottery St. Catchpole, it was close to dinner time because apparating  babies across oceans was frowned upon, and floo travel only slightly less so, so in the end he'd  had to get a portkey made up at the American Bureau.  It dumped him a mile and a half from his intended destination, so he had to take a muggle cab the rest of the way.

 

By the time he reached the Burrow, Harry was really beginning to wish that he hadn't, or at the very least had thought out what he was going to _say_ because he couldn't very well walk into Mrs. Weasley's kitchen with a baby unannounced.  Only, he couldn't stay standing in the middle of the lane, either, and Will was probably getting hungry, and Harry knew that if he didn't act soon, he would lose his nerve entirely.

 

When the front door opened and Arthur Weasley stuck his head out curiously, Harry knew he had misjudged his timing, because the clink of silverware and the aroma of good cooking drifted out around him and from the sound of the raucous laughter, a family dinner was in full swing.

 

"Harry!" Arthur exclaimed loudly, and even the conversation behind him wasn't enough to muffle it, because a sudden silence fell over the Burrow, preceding a great scraping of chairs as everyone rushed out to see for themselves.

 

For a moment, Harry thought he was about to get bowled over and curled himself around Will protectively, but Arthur stuck his arms out firmly and grabbed the doorframe, holding his large family back.

 

"Is that Harry?  Where is he?"

 

"Get off my foot, let me see!" 

 

"Harry, we were so worried!"

 

"Everybody _move!_ "

 

Molly Weasley, the most forceful of the lot, squeezed to the very front of the crowd and peered out over her husband's shoulder.  "Harry James Potter, where in Merlin's name have you been?!"

 

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said tiredly, shifting Will gently as he began to wake up.

 

"What's that you're holding?" Molly squinted out into the gathering gloom.  "Arthur, what's he holding?"

 

"It looks like a baby, dear," Arthur said calmly.

 

"A baby!"

 

Several people gasped loudly. 

 

"Where did it come from?" Molly demanded.  "Arthur, Harry's got a baby!"

 

"I can see that, Molls."  

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably.  "He's mine, Mrs. Weasley."

 

The group burst into frantic chatter once more.  Will woke completely, and began to cry. 

 

" _Quiet_!" Molly roared, spinning around, and began herding the family back inside, amid protests.

 

Arthur took Harry's elbow and guided him up the steps.  "I think you'd best come inside, son."

 

Harry followed him into the kitchen, where the entire family had squashed inside to wait. 

 

"Er, hello," he said belatedly, patting Will on the back.  Everyone was there, it seemed.   Hermione in particular looked like she was about to burst from wanting to speak, but the baby's cries held her back.

 

Molly bustled about, pouring warmed milk into a bottle.  She took the baby before Harry could protest, and tucked him up in the crook of her elbow and popped the nipple of the bottle into his open mouth before he had time to notice the changing of hands.  To Harry's amazement, Will quieted instantly, and began to suckle.

 

"There, now," Molly crooned, rocking back and forth ever so slightly.  "That's much better.  Oh, what a handsome little fellow you are!"

 

"The mother?" Arthur asked quietly. 

 

Harry swallowed.  "She left."

 

"The nerve!" Molly exclaimed.  "What kind of mother abandons her child?  Unfit!"

 

Harry was too tired to argue.

 


	2. Of Witchcraft and Wizardry

** Of Witchcraft and Wizardry **

_In which Alexander Summers receives a series of unexpected invitations_

+

 

Alex Summers was in something of a pickle.

 

He wasn’t supposed to be in Giles’ office in the first place. He definitely wasn’t supposed to be picking the lock on Giles’ desk, but, well, needs must – and Alex _needed_ to sate his curiosity. It was hardly his fault that Giles kept the juiciest slayer journals locked away! Of course, the Watchers’ Chronicles were also something that were completely off-limits to eleven-year-old boys named Alex, but that was completely irrelevant. It wasn’t like anyone was going to tell him about the really good stuff of their own accord.

 

“ _Please_ go away,” Alex addressed the twenty-odd birds that had descended on him through the open study window. “I’m in enough trouble already!”

 

“Alex? What in the Hellmouth’s name – ”

 

Alex spun around guiltily. His mother stood in the open doorway, but she was staring past him at the assembled flock.

 

“Would you believe me if I said I had nothing to do with this?” he tried hopefully.

 

A large crow _cawed_ loudly from the back of Giles’ desk chair, and a rumpled-looking barn owl lost control of its bowels on an open copy of _The Slayer Handbook, Revised Ed._

 

Buffy gave him a _look_.

 

It took them nearly half an hour to coax the majority of the birds back out the open window, even with his mother’s superior reflexes. Alex personally thought things would have gone a lot quicker if she hadn’t stopped every five minutes to berate his carelessness; it was hardly _Alex’s_ fault the window had been left open. Honestly, didn’t Giles know they had air conditioning? So really, if Alex was blamed for pursuing his academic curiosity, or for Giles’ lack of energy conservation, well, it was terrifically unfair.

 

Luckily, his mother was distracted from the original trespass by the two dozen envelopes, scrolls, and one extremely elaborate pop-up book they found amidst the feathers and dung.

 

“They’re all addressed to ‘S. Summers,’” Alex read, handing an envelope to his mother. “That doesn’t make any sense – no one in the family has a name that starts with the letter ‘S’.”

 

Now it was Buffy’s turn to look guilty.  “Well… _actually…”_

+

 

“My name is _Sirius?_ ” Alex demanded. “You’ve been lying to me all these years?”

 

“Only technically,” Buffy defended. “Alexander is your middle name.”

 

“You told me I didn’t have a middle name! And what kind of name is _Sirius_ , anyways?”

 

His mother sighed. “Your father named you Sirius, after a relative of his who died when he was a kid. I chose Alexander, after Uncle Xander, obviously. When your dad and I split up, I started calling you Alex. You were like, six months old.”

 

“My entire life has been a lie,” Alex said dramatically.

 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Buffy snapped, reaching for the nearest scroll. She undid the ribbon and tossed it aside.

 

“It’s a federal offense to open other peoples’ mail, you know,” Alex grumbled, sinking further into his chair.

 

“You’re eleven,” Buffy said unworriedly. She scanned the page. “And as your mother, I have the right to know if you’ve been practicing magic without supervision.”

 

“What?!” Alex sat up indignantly. “I’d never!”

 

(This was a lie, but never mind that now. He’d never do anything _big_. He wasn’t completely stupid.)

 

He tore open an envelope addressed in periwinkle blue, and unfolded the thick sheath of parchment inside. “ _Monsieur Summers,_ ” he read aloud, “ _Nous avons le plaisir de vous informer de votre acceptation dans L’ Académie de Magie Beaubâtons …_ ” He looked up in surprise. “Holy cow, they think I’m a French warlock!”

 

Buffy pursed her lips. “I think this calls for a Scooby meeting.”

 

+

 

“So let me get this straight,” Uncle Xander said later that evening, once everyone who was available had been rounded up for Buffy’s impromptu family meeting. “Alex is a witch and he’s going to Magic High?”

 

“According to these letters, the proper terminology is ‘wizard,’” Aunt Willow, the only real witch at the table, interjected. “This particular community of magic users obviously distinguishes between the genders of the spell caster.”

 

“Does anyone else find it, I don’t know, _suspicious_ that Alex was accepted to a dozen schools we’ve never heard of without filling out a single application?” Xander continued, scratching at the edge of his eye patch. “I mean, I know I barely finished high school –”

 

( _This was more due to the giant snake demon that killed half of the graduating class than Xander’s grades and attendance record, actually, thank you very much_.)

 

“ – but even I know you have to apply to these fancy boarding schools. And what’s this about wands? Are they serious? Is that some kind of euphemism? ‘Cause I’m really not liking the direction _that’s_ heading.”

 

“I’ve found references to wand users in several of the older texts,” Aunt Dawn, who was Alex’s only biological aunt, put in from across the table. She had a pile of ancient tomes on one side, and a laptop with an open web browser on the other. “Plenty of magic requires a focus. Crystals, talismans, staffs…”

 

Xander rolled his good eye. “Okay, Gandalf.”

 

“But look at the supply list!” Willow interrupted. “A cauldron – okay, well that’s actually useful, but hats, robes, _toads_ –” she shuddered. “This one even mentions a policy on broomsticks!” She threw the offending letter down in disgust. “It’s completely stereotypical and offensive.”

 

“Jealous, Wills?” Buffy said, failing to hide her grin.

 

“Little bit,” Willow pouted.

 

“If it’s a joke, it does seem to be in very poor taste,” Dawn admitted, waving the letter from the Salem Academy for Young Witches and Wizards.

 

Buffy and Willow winced, remembering the time they were almost burned at the stake by their own mothers.

 

“Giles, have you ever heard of these schools?” Xander asked, directing his question to the laptop where Giles was videoconferencing in via Skype.

 

“ _I’m afraid not_ ,” Giles admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose as he removed his glasses. “ _I will contact the Devon Coven as soon as we’re finished here. They may be able to shed some light on the mystery._ ”

 

“So you never came across anything like this back in your misspent, spellcasting youth,” Xander confirmed.

 

“ _Hardly_ ,” Giles snorted. “ _We were summoning demons and reveling in chaos and anarchy. Academics were the last thing on our minds_.” He looked sharply at Alex. “ _Let that be a lesson to you, young man!_ ”

 

“Sweetie, you haven’t been trying to cast any big magic, right?” Willow asked Alex kindly. “Because if you have, I totally understand, I mean, pot calling the kettle black, but you know it’s very dangerous, and none of us want to see you get hurt…”

 

Alex, who had learned by now that the best way to get information out of his over-protective family was to stay quiet and hope they forgot he was there when they started talking slayage and demon-summoning, shook his head vigorously. “I haven’t, I swear. Cross my heart.”

 

“Funny story about that saying,” Dawn said, perking up. “It actually originates from…some place that’s not relevant to what we’re talking about. Sorry.” She returned hastily to her books.

 

“No one’s accusing anyone,” Buffy said firmly. “But Giles – I need answers. I don’t like this many people knowing Alex’s name.”

 

“You think it’s a dastardly scheme to infiltrate the Council through seducing the young, impressionable son of The Slayer with sweet promises of the dark arts? Yes, _ve-ry_ clever…” This came from Uncle Andrew, who was prone to outbursts of melodrama and ~~scifi~~ SyFy references.

 

“Ugh, give me a straight forward kidnapping any day,” Dawn groused.

 

“It’s more than just his name,” Buffy said, waving an envelope for emphasis. “These things are addressed down to the room he was standing in. How could anyone know that?”

 

“And why birds?” Andrew wanted to know. “If these “wizards” are as “magical” as they “claim”, why waste the time training that many owls? Because let me tell you, it’s a lot harder than it looks.”

 

“I think there was one too many air quotes in that sentence,” Xander said dryly.

 

“I don’t “follow”,” Andrew air quoted back. “All I’m saying is, couldn’t they just, “Poof!” the letters?”

 

“Or use a computer,” Willow muttered, rolling her eyes. “Most covens have at least one techno-pagan, these days.”

 

They considered this and all of their other unanswered questions for a long moment.

 

“Anyone hungry?” Buffy said finally, breaking the silence.

 

Xander perked up. “Ooh, snacks!”

 

“I’ll order pizza,” Dawn said, pulling up the website. “The usual?”

 

 _“I think that’s my cue to sign off,”_ video-Giles said. _“I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve spoken to Althenea.”_

 

“Tell her I said hi!” Willow piped up.

 

  _“Of course. Oh, and Alex?”_ Giles leveled a heavy, HD stare at him through the screen, _“We will be having a long talk when I return concerning invasion of privacy.”_

 

He closed the chat window with a _ping_.

 

Alex groaned loudly and banged his head on the table.

 

+

 

“Rupert Giles?”

 

A tall woman at the back of the old fashioned tea shop rose to greet him as he entered. She wore a leather motorcycle jacket over a flowing sun dress, and Giles found himself momentarily distracted by wondering how that combination worked in practice. Then again, this woman was a witch.

 

“Mrs. Martin, I presume?” he said, offering his hand to Althenea’s contact.

 

“Ms,” she corrected, smiling warmly as she shook his hand. “But please, call me Elspeth. I took the liberty of ordering a plate of sandwiches. I hope you’re hungry.”

 

“Starved, actually. Thanks very much.”

 

They sat down at a quiet back table. Elspeth poured Giles a cup of tea from a steaming pot and fixed it with two lumps of sugar without asking how he took it.

 

“Althenea wasn’t entirely clear about the specifics of your situation, I’m afraid,” Elspeth admitted, spreading a napkin across her lap and helping herself to a sandwich from the plate between them. “I gather that someone connected to your organization has received an invitation to one of the schools for magic?”

 

“My adoptive grandson, as it were,” Giles clarified. “And it wasn’t just one letter – as of this morning, Alex has received letters from twenty-eight institutions claiming to be magical teaching establishments. Curiously, two appear to be all-girls schools.”

 

Elspeth nearly spat out her mouthful of tea. “ _Twenty-eight_?” she repeated. “That must be every school on the map!”

 

“You’re saying they are legitimate?” Giles pressed.

 

“Yes, yes, of course they are, but… _twenty-eight_? I’ve never heard of anything like it!” She sat back, amazed. “I didn’t even realize there were that many! The wizarding world is very small, you know.”

 

“What, exactly, do you mean by ‘wizarding world’?” Giles asked. “You’ll forgive me if I sound skeptical, but I can’t understand how a supernatural community of this magnitude could be unknown to the Council.”

 

“Wand wizards are very secretive,” Elspeth said with a small smile of indulgent affection. “My mother was a squib, you see, which is how I know as much as I do.”

 

Giles stared. “I’m sorry, your mother was a what?”

 

“A squib is a person who is born to wizarding parents but possesses no magic of their own,” Elspeth explained quickly. “Of course, that is a very _wizarding_ definition. My mother _was_ a witch – just not the same kind. Wiccans, as you know, may have an inherent potential for magic, but primarily draw their energy from outside sources. Gaia, and…other places. Wizards actually possess an internal source of magic, which they can channel through a focus; usually a wand. Some wizards have the same aptitude as powerful wiccans (although they don’t know this!) and are also adept at some wandless spell-casting.

 

“It’s much more complex than that,” Elspeth continued, “and there are many conflicting schools of thought. But there you have the basics. The wizarding world is very secretive and reclusive, to such a startling degree that there remain many misconceptions on both sides.” She smiled suddenly. “You should have seen my grandfather’s face the first time he saw me cast a spell – he simply could not understand how I was able to perform magic but couldn’t so much as create sparks with a wand!”

 

Giles moved to clean his glasses on reflex. “Indeed.”

 

+

 

Two pots of tea and a shared plate of buttery lemon scones later, many of the aforementioned misconceptions had been cleared up to both parties’ liking, but one question remained.

 

“The one thing I still don’t understand is the mass volume of letters,” Elspeth mused. “It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never heard of a child receiving more than two or three letters at most; and only then in very particular circumstances – and never in the case of a muggleborn!”

 

“Let it never be said that Alex Summers is a conformist,” Giles said dryly.

 

Elspeth’s lips twitched. “That may be, but it’s all determined magically. Whatever district – for lack of a better term – Alex lives in is the only one he should receive an invitation from. I believe there are currently five or six schools in North America. Not being a particularly strong student of geography, I couldn’t say whether Toronto or New Orleans would be closer.”

 

“Toronto,” Giles said absently. “Although the letter from New Orleans was quite popular amongst the family; Cajun French is a fascinating dialect.”

 

“Regardless, it’s highly irregular. I can’t see how –”

 

“Good lord,” Giles blurted, sudden comprehension dawning. “I’ve just had a thought: the Council – it’s an extraterritoriality. Our continental headquarters and safe houses are treated as embassies, although we claim no nationality. We have an agreement with the United Nations. Alex has spent most of his life living in international zones. Would that be enough to skew the results of the…locator spells?”

 

Elspeth raised her eyebrows. “I suppose that could be it.” Then she laughed. “It doesn’t really make perfect sense, but then again, this _is_ wizarding magic we’re talking about here.”

 

+

 

“So Ace here’s a real Sabrina?” Aunt Faith clapped Alex on the back and nearly sent him sprawling across the training mats. “Nice!” She grinned at him. “Mom gonna let you go?”

 

Buffy pursed her lips. “We’ll see,” she said doubtfully.

 

“Mo-om,” Alex whined, ducking Faith’s attempts to ruffle his hair. He was largely unsuccessful, because, well, _slayer_. “Giles’ friend said I hafta go, or I’ll start blowing things up!”

 

“You already blow things up,” Buffy said archly. “You got that from me.”

 

“Don’t be a spoilsport, B,” Faith egged. “I thought Giles said it all checked out?”

 

“Well…yes,” Buffy admitted. “But that still doesn’t mean it’s a good idea for Alex to be doing magic.”

 

“Not to stick my nose in your decisions – ” Willow popped her head in as she passed the training room.

 

“Doesn’t everyone in this family?” Buffy muttered rhetorically.

 

“ – but I’ve got to say, I’m all for getting Alex proper magical training. He has internal magic; it’s not going to just go away.”

 

“But can’t you teach him?” Buffy said hopefully.

 

“Buffy,” Willow sighed, “it’s not the same.”

 

“I don’t see why not,” Buffy said stubbornly, folding her arms over her chest.

 

“Hey, Ace, whaddya say we go raid the freezer for ice cream?” Faith said loudly. “I’m starving!”

 

Alex recognized the offer as a distraction and gave her a look that clearly said _Are you kidding me?_

 

Faith shook her head at his expression. “Not a suggestion, babe.” Before he could protest, she picked him up and tossed him over her shoulder. “Wanna come, Little Red?” she asked Willow’s shadow.

 

“Yeah!” Taryn squealed, bouncing away from her mother. Faith scooped her up as well, earning another delighted screech. Faith had always been a great favorite with the exuberant child.

 

Taryn-Anyanka was Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander’s six-year-old daughter, even though Aunt Willow was gay and Uncle Xander usually dated demons. Alex still didn’t know the whole story of his not-cousin’s origins, but he knew it would be worth finding out eventually, because anytime anyone brought it up all of the grownups turned bright red and made excuses to leave the room.

 

Even though Taryn was only six she was insanely smart and silly, and Alex usually loved hanging out with her, but as they both swayed in time with Faith’s stride, he wished she would stop babbling so he could hear what Buffy and Willow were saying.

 

“Afterwegeticecreamcanicomewithyoutomagicschool?” she demanded unintelligibly.

 

 _“I think you’re afraid,”_ Willow’s voice floated down the hall. _“You’re afraid Alex is growing up and won’t need you anymore, but don’t you think you’re being a little selfish? Alex needs to learn control…”_

“…and then we’ll turn all of the homework into frogs!”

 

“What?” Alex said, equally distracted by the feeling of all the blood rushing to his head and Taryn’s unsettling love for amphibians. “Shut up, Taryn! I’m trying to listen!”

 

Faith swatted him on the behind. “Watch your tone with the ladies, Ace!”

 

“… _maybe you’re right,” Buffy said distantly. “Maybe I’m just being selfish and overprotective.”_

_“You’re being a_ mom _, Buffy. That’s completely normal.”_

There was a long pause in the conversation, and Alex made a face as they reached the limit of even his hearing. Evidence was inconclusive. He hoped Willow was wearing her resolve face.

 

“Okay, kiddos,” Faith said, jarring him from his thoughts when she put them down on the kitchen table, and moved to open the freezer. “What’ll it be? We’ve got strawberry, fudge ripple, rocky road, that weird flavor with the gummy bears…”

 

+

Buffy found him later curled up in his favorite nook of the library. She often teased him about this hiding spot, but had to acknowledge her own hypocrisy: everyone in the family hid out in the library when they wanted to be alone or take a nap.

 

 _“When I can’t sleep I read the encyclopedias,”_ Uncle Xander told him once. _“By the time I get to A’Avssshk Demons, I’m out like a light.”_

 

 _“The medieval weapons manuals soothe me,”_ Buffy had once admitted.

 

(In fact, until he was eight, Alex had believed that libraries were the place everyone went to take naps and conquer insomnia.)

 

“Hey,” Buffy said, trying to be quiet even though he’d heard her coming from all the way down the hall. “What’chya reading?”

 

“It’s not magic,” Alex defended immediately, showing her the cover.

 

“ _Ancient Sumerian for Dummies_ ,” Buffy read aloud. She made a face. “Ugh. Why?”

 

Alex shrugged, tight-lipped.

 

Buffy sat down across from him. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

 

Alex turned the page.

 

“I guess we’ll need to get you a wand, huh?”

 

Alex’s head snapped up. “Really? I can go?!”

 

“Really,” Buffy confirmed. “You can thank Aunt Willow later.”

 

“Mom! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Alex yelled. Launching himself out of the armchair, he threw his arms around his mother’s neck. Unfortunately, her chair was somewhat less stable and the force of his excitement sent them both crashing to the floor.

 

“Are you sure you didn’t inherit my strength?” Buffy teased as they untangled themselves from the broken chair bits.

 

“As long as I didn’t get your height!”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Ow. _Mom_. Human boy!”

 

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry sweetie! Sometimes I forget you’re not as tough as the girls!”

 

“…Thanks, Mom.”

 


	3. Of Magic and Muggles

** Of Magic and Muggles **

_In which William Potter reflects on what it means to be a wizard_

+

 

Will Potter sighed heavily, and pushed his rapidly cooling eggs listlessly around his plate with his fork.

 

“We can go to Diagon Alley this weekend to get your supplies. We’ll meet up with Aunt Hermione and Amaryllis.”

 

Will looked up at his father briefly before turning his attention back to his plate. “All right.”

 

“Aren’t you excited?”

 

Will shrugged.

 

“You’re going to love it,” Harry assured him, making one last effort to elicit anything mildly resembling an enthusiastic response from his son. “It’s great. You’ll make loads of friends.”

 

Another shrug.

 

The fact of the matter was, Will _wasn’t_ particularly excited by the prospect of starting at Hogwarts. Yes, it would be nice to be able to do magic, but Will couldn’t help but wonder if there weren’t other things he’d rather be doing. Like…visiting America, or learning Portuguese. Or how to play the bass guitar. Important things.

 

Will pushed his plate away. “Can I go outside?”

 

Harry sighed, but nodded. “Just be careful if you’re flying. Don’t go above the trees.”

 

Will snorted inwardly as he dumped his eggs in the rubbish bin. Very unlikely. He hadn’t so much as touched his broomstick in six months. It was currently jammed under his bed, collecting dust. If his dad or Uncle Ron ever found out…

 

Much to his father’s (and to most of the extended family’s) dismay, Will was not particularly keen on heights _or_ flying, and he was absolutely useless when it came to Quidditch. Everyone had expected him to be some sort of prodigy on a broom (they’d actually started a betting pool when he was a baby on what position he’d play when he got to school) and Will had lost count of how many times he’d heard the story of how his father made the Gryffindor House team in his very first year at Hogwarts. Well, Will wasn’t his father, he was not likely to become the youngest in a century to do _anything_ on a broomstick, and he _certainly_ wouldn’t be making any house teams in the foreseeable future.

 

He pushed open the back door and stepped outside. A faint breeze tugged at the ends of his neatly combed hair. This was another difference between Will and his father. While Harry’s hair was in a permanent state of disorder, Will’s hair was relatively well behaved. It must be his mother’s genetic influence, he decided.

 

Will couldn’t remember his mother. She left not long after he was born, for reasons his father didn’t like to talk about. Will got the impression that Harry had never really gotten over it, because he’d once found a battered picture of her hidden in the back of Harry’s sock drawer. She was beautiful, with honey colored hair and grey-green eyes. _Buffy, fall 2003_ had been written neatly across the back in unfamiliar handwriting. It was a Muggle photograph, which was part of the reason Will liked it so much. There was no chance of his mother wandering off. Harry had let him keep it after the fifth time he caught him looking at it.

 

A cloud passed over the sun, throwing the backyard into shadow. Will looked up. A storm was on the horizon. He shivered slightly. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he couldn’t help but feel that something was coming. Something was going to _happen_.

 

Something big.

 

+

 

Standing at the kitchen window, Harry watched his son with a small frown. He was unused to the emotional barrier that had suddenly sprung into existence between himself and Will. They’d always had their differences, of course, but Harry had never felt so…shut out.

 

A rush of flames and a flash of green light made him turn. A familiar redhead stumbled out of the fireplace, his robes covered in a fine layer of gray soot.

 

“Damn,” the man swore, trying in vain to brush them off. “I hate floo travel. I don’t care what the healer says – I’m apparating home.”

 

Harry felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “Hello, Ron.”

 

Ron shot him a glare. “Not one word from you, Potter. I’ve seen you floo, and it’s not pretty.”

 

Harry help up his hands in self-defense. “I didn’t say anything!”

 

“You were going to,” Ron said with a small sniff. “Don’t lie to me, I know you better than that. Anyways, I’m not here to see _you_.” He scanned the room, as though he expected the object of his visit to pop out of the woodwork. “Where is he? Has he got his letter yet? The girls sent me to find out; Amaryllis and Roz got theirs this morning.”

 

“He’s outside. And it arrived this morning.” Harry’s voice was strained. “But I’m…” he trailed off.

 

Ron looked at him sharply. “You’re what?”

 

“I’m worried about him,” Harry admitted, leaning back against the counter and rubbing his scar thoughtfully, a childhood habit he’d never quite been able to break. “He doesn’t want to go.”

 

“Of course he does. Just doesn’t know it yet. This is Hogwarts we’re talking about.”

 

“No, you don’t understand – he doesn’t _care_. He’s –” Harry floundered for the right words. “He’s been sulking all week. I’ve barely been able to get a word out of him. And then –” he paused, before continuing “ – and then, last night, he asked about his mother.”

 

“Ah,” said Ron, nodding sagely.

 

“Ah?” Harry repeated, incredulous. “ _Ah_? All that, and all you’ve got to say is _ah_?”

 

“Merlin’s beard, don’t get your knickers in a bunch. All I’m saying is, you’re an idiot.”

 

“Oh, is _that_ all?”

 

“Harry, the boy’s eleven years old – of course he wants to know about his mother.” Ron looked at him pointedly. “Didn’t you?”

 

“Well, yes, but I,” Harry fumbled.

 

“But nothing,” Ron said firmly. “Look, I’ll talk to him if you like. See what’s really bothering him, yeah?”

 

Harry nodded reluctantly. “All right. Just…don’t tell him I asked you, okay?”

 

“You didn’t ask me,” Ron pointed out. “I offered.”

 

“Still, I don’t want him to think I think he’s…well, I don’t want him to think I’m worried about him.”

 

“You’ve got my word.”

 

+

 

“Your dad’s worried,” Ron said bluntly, taking a seat beside his surrogate nephew on the stone wall at the back of the garden.

 

Will shrugged. “Dad’s always worried.”

 

“Can’t argue there. But this is serious. He thinks you don’t want to go to Hogwarts.” Ron paused. “Want to talk about it?”

 

Will exhaled loudly. “I just…I dunno. It seems a waste of time.”

 

“A waste of time?”

 

“Face it,” said Will, meeting Ron’s eyes for the first time, “I’d make a terrible wizard. I’m not…not _like_ you and Dad. I don’t fly, I hate wearing those ridiculous robes, and I don’t _want_ to learn how to turn mice into snuffboxes.” He looked down, and glared mutinously at his trainers. “I wish I was a muggle.”

 

Ron raised one fiery eyebrow. “And pray tell: what would you do if you were a muggle?”

 

“I’d write dirty limericks,” Will said promptly, “and publish them under the penname Mildred Ashbury. And I’d be horrifically famous.”

 

Ron’s eyebrow climbed higher. “Mildred?”

 

“Dirty limericks are always more shocking when people think they were written by a girl.”

 

Ron decided he wouldn’t even try to argue with that logic. Instead, he pointed out that Will didn’t have to be a muggle to write bad poetry.

 

(Admittedly, the poetics scene in wizarding Britain had been in something of a slump since the mid-eighties, ever since the best-selling sonneteer Lewis Pennyfeather was tried and convicted as a Death Eater. This shed an entirely different light on some of his more popular works, such as “Sonnet for a Sorcerer, no. 17” and put a lot of people off the entire genre.)

 

“Then I’d build a spaceship and fly to the moon,” Will continued, unabashed. “Muggles have been doing it for years, you know.”

 

“I’m pretty sure those are just rumors, Will,” Ron said with a laugh.

 

(They were not rumors.)

 

They sat in silence for several minutes before Will spoke again.

 

“Uncle Ron?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“D’you think dreams can come true?”

 

“What, like wishes?”

 

Will shook his head. “No, like…if you dream of something, and somewhere in the world it’s actually happening. Like you’re seeing it, even though you’re not really there. I dunno, like seeing the future or something.”

 

Ron grinned. “Will, my lad, remind me to tell you about the time old Trewlawny made your dad and I keep these ridiculous dream diaries.”

 

“ _Uncle Ron._ ”

 

Ron faltered, catching sight of Will’s expression. He hesitated. “Have you ever…do you have dreams like that, Will? Ones you think might be true?” He worded his question carefully. Divination was mostly incense and funny blodges in the bottom of your tea cup, and relatively useless as a school subject unless you had the Sight, but seers were rare – not unheard of.

 

Will stared back for several long seconds, sizing him up. Then he blinked and shook his head. “No,” he said shortly. “Just curious.”

 

(This was a lie, of course.)

  

+

 

 

“That’s revolting.” Will screwed up his face in disgust as he watched Amaryllis attach her pumpkin ice cream with gusto. “How can you _eat_ that?”

 

She paused long enough to give him a withering glare. “Just because _you_ don’t like pumpkin doesn’t make it disgusting.”

 

“It’s just wrong,” Will persisted. “Ice cream shouldn’t taste like vegetables.”

 

“Botanically speaking, a pumpkin is a fruit,” Amaryllis countered, and stuck out her tongue.

 

“Hey now,” Rosaline* said, trying her best to look scandalized. “No fighting on my watch. Will is perfectly entitled to his own opinions. Amaryllis, stick that tongue back in your mouth before I chop it off.”

 

Amaryllis waggled her orange tongue at her older sister tauntingly.

 

Rosaline rolled her eyes and returned to her book.

 

At fourteen, Rosaline was the oldest of their little group, and had ostensibly been left in charge while their parents took care of some adult-type business further down the Alley. She and her younger sister, Amaryllis, were Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron’s daughters, and Will was closest to them out of all of his not!cousins.

 

“So,” said Amaryllis, licking the last drops of pumpkin ice cream off her fingers. “Which house do you think you’ll be sorted into?”

 

Will thought about it for a moment. “I dunno. No one really knows until they’re sorted, do they?”

 

“Well, which house do you _want_ to be in?”

 

He shrugged. “Don’t really care.”

 

Amaryllis harrumphed. “Oh, come on. Pick one!”

 

“I said I don’t care.”

 

Amaryllis ignored this. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “if you’re in Gryffindor, you’d be with me and Roz and Max. That’d be cool, I could show you around. Grace and Selene are in Ravenclaw, but I think I’d get a bit annoyed living with them full time, wouldn’t you? Not that you’d share a dorm or anything, but _still_. Hélène’s a Slytherin, so that might not be _too_ bad…no Weasley Hufflepuffs, though. So, pick one!”

 

“Hufflepuff.”

 

“Oh, don’t be so anti-social,” Amaryllis complained. “You only picked Hufflepuff because I said none of us are in it.”

 

“I happen to like yellow,” Will defended.

 

+

 Ollivander’s _, Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C._ looked to Will’s critical eyes as though it hadn’t seen a proper dust rag since it first opened.

 

The Ollivanders were, of course, the premier wand makers in Great Britain – and quite possibly the world. It was unclear exactly how old the current Mr. Ollivander was; but from the looks of him when he stepped out from behind a large stack of wand boxes, Will thought that he, too, may well have been around since the shop began doing business. He had a shock of white hair and odd, pale eyes that didn’t seem to be any one color in particular.

 

“Ahhh, I was wondering when I might be seeing you again.” Mr. Ollivander said by way of a greeting. He shook Harry’s hand. “Mr. Potter, it’s been some time.”

 

“Nearly eleven years,” Harry confirmed.

 

“Rowan and phoenix feather, twelve inches. A very good wand. Quite…fitting, one might say. A shame about your first, but then again…it was probably for the best…all things considered…” He trailed off, and focusing his attention instead on Will. “And young Mr. Potter. You’ll be needing your first wand.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Will agreed, feeling incredibly awkward. This was the part he was been dreading, truth been told. Although he couldn’t say why, this event, this purchase of his first wand, seemed to Will like the point of no return. Once he held it, he would be a wizard. Until then, he could be anything. 

 

“And which is your wand arm?”

 

“My left.”

 

“Hmm,” Mr. Ollivander said thoughtfully, and pulled a small measuring tape out of his pocket. It moved quite of its own accord, and Mr. Ollivander  turned back to Harry. “I was expecting another.”

 

Though it was hard to tell with the measuring tape flicking back and forth in front of his face (measuring the width of his eyes and the space between them) Will thought he saw his father give a start in surprise. _Another? Another what?_ He listened carefully.

 

“No,” Harry was saying firmly. “She…no. Definitely not.”

 

“I see,” said Mr. Ollivander, and frowned deeply. “Hmm.”

 

Will wasn’t sure what to make of this exchange, but didn’t have time to think on it, as at that moment, Mr. Ollivander whirled back around and fixed the measuring tape with a firm glare. “Enough.” He snapped his fingers and the tape fell to the floor.

 

He disappeared once more into the bowels of the shop, and returned a few moments later carrying a long, thin box. Removing the dusty lid, he held it out to Will. Nestled inside was a thin, handsomely carved wand.

 

“Acacia wood and unicorn tail hair. 12 and ¼ inches. A curious combination, unicorn tail hair with a desert tree. Strong, but flexible. Go on, boy, give it a wave!”

 

Almost reluctantly, Will reached out a hand and picked it up. Immediately, a jolt of warmth surged through him, from the tips of his fingers right down to his toes. Suddenly feeling more confident, he raised the wand high and brought it down with a large _swoosh_. A stream of violet sparks showered from the pointed tip.

 

His father looked rather taken aback, but Mr. Ollivander merely frowned. “It is not often a wizard finds a suitable match on his first try,” he said. His odd, moon-like eyes seemed to be looking straight through Will into the day after tomorrow. “Your father in particular was exceedingly challenging, both times I fitted him. However…” He smiled suddenly, and Will had to bite his tongue to keep from gasping out loud. The change was enormous, and not in a particularly good way. If anything, the man’s smile was more frightening than his frown.

 

“However, it is the wand that chooses the wizard, and this particular wand has been waiting a very long time to be chosen.” He stared at Will. “A _very_ long time indeed.”

 

Mr. Ollivander turned back to Harry before Will could decide what to make of that. “Take it, free of charge.” When Harry opened his mouth to protest, Mr. Ollivander cut him off, holding up a hand to silence him. “I cannot accept payment for a wand I did not make. This wand was given to me as a gift, many years ago, along with specific instructions to pass it on when the time came, as a gift.” His eyes flitted back to Will. “Fate is not yet fixed, young Mr. Potter, but I believe I am correct in saying that in time, you will do a great many things. And many of them will indeed be great.” His gaze intensified, and then softened. “Perhaps sooner than you think.”

 

+

 

The sky was just beginning to darken as they made their way back up the Alley, towards the Leaky Cauldron, from where they would floo home. Amaryllis and Roseline had left with their parents, as they both already had wands.

 

In distinct opposition to the state of affairs that morning, Will was practically abuzz with an undercurrent of electric excitement, while Harry had been silent and withdrawn since they left Ollivander’s.

 

Will slipped his hand inside the bag he was carrying and touched the box that contained his new wand. He reckoned he could still feel a spark jolt up his arm through the lid.  He latched onto this small bit of warmth, and feeling emboldened, broke the heavy silence. “Dad?”

 

“Hmm?” Harry looked down at him, still frowning thoughtfully. “What is it?”

 

“I think I’m going to love Hogwarts.”

 

Harry stopped in his tracks. “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” said Will, sincerely. “I didn’t until just now. I didn’t think I could be a very good wizard, not like you or Uncle Ron.” His eyes flickered down briefly, but he took a deep breath and looked back up at his father. “But when I touched my wand, I felt it. It felt – right. Like a part of me that was missing. If magic feels like that, I reckon Hogwarts can’t be too bad. Before I was just…worried.”

 

“Why were you worried?” Harry asked, still perplexed.

 

“What if people don’t like me?” Will said quietly. “What if I’m no good at spells? Everyone thinks I’m someone special, because I’m a _Potter_ , but I – and I didn’t want to leave you,” he whispered, embarrassed.

 

“Oh _Will_ ,” Harry said, and suddenly crushed Will to him in a fierce hug. “You _are_ special. Not because you’re William Potter; because you’re _Will_.” He held Will at arm’s length and looked him in the eye. “Anyone who says differently isn’t worth your time. And nobody’s good at spells their first year. Except your Aunt Hermione. So don’t worry if it takes time. Okay?”

 

“Yeah,” said Will, nodding. “I know that, now. I was being silly.”

 

“It’s not silly,” Harry said, shaking his head. He checked his watch. “Ready to head home?”

 

Will touched the wand box once more and glanced up at the sky. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rosaline is my one nod to the next!gen characters that were introduced in the epilogue of Deathly Hallows. She is not meant to be the Rose Weasley of canon (indeed, she would have been born several years too early, by my timeline), just a tip of the hat to J.K. Rowling for mangling her characters’ lives.
> 
> I chose the name Rosaline because I’ve had a secret desire for that to be Rose’s full name ever since DH was published. It’s Shakespearean, which fits with Hermione. To be more specific, this is not a reference to the minor character Rosaline who appears in Romeo and Juliet, or the Rosalind of As You Like It, but to the Rosaline of Love’s Labours Lost.
> 
>  
> 
> Some History
> 
> For those of you who may only have a passing relationship with the Bard’s works, you may not be overly familiar with this play, as it was not one of his more popular. It is a very academic play, by current and 16th century standards – in fact, evidence suggests that it was written with a scholarly audience in mind, which is supported by the complexity of the wordplay and literary references. Today it is often considered one of the more difficult Shakespearean plays for a modern audience to grasp, due to our general lack of knowledge of the pop-culture of Shakespeare’s time.
> 
> As an academically minded individual, I think Hermione would be drawn to this play, if any. It’s full of strong women, and Lady Rosaline is a highly intelligent, witty, and charming character – the perfect namesake for her daughter.
> 
> Shutting up now.


	4. Of Friends and Foe

** Of Friends and Foe **

_In which friends are made, and enemies gained._

+

 

“So, we just…walk through?” Uncle Xander studied the brick wall skeptically. “Huh.”

 

“Yes, it does seem a bit solid, doesn’t it?” Giles adjusted his glasses with a frown. “But Elspeth was quite clear in her instructions.”

 

“Elspeth, huh?” Xander said with a grin. “Is she pretty?”

 

Giles ignored him.

 

“I’ll go first,” Alex offered, bouncing forward with excitement.

 

“No!” both men shouted as one. Xander quickly caught hold of Alex’s arm and dragged him back. He rolled his eyes.

 

“What? It’s not like it’s going to toss me into some hell dimension.”

 

“That’s been known to happen,” Xander defended.

 

“But – ”

 

“Xander shall go first,” Giles interrupted firmly.

 

“Yeah, _I’ll_ go – hey!” Xander rounded on Giles. “Why do _I_ have to go first?”

 

“Because you are…wait, where’s Taryn?”

 

“She went through the wall,” Alex informed them huffily. “I was _trying_ to tell you.”

 

Giles spluttered. “She just… _went?_ On her own? And you _let_ her?”

 

“Well, she sort of followed a group of boys wearing dresses. Come on, I’m going to miss the train!” Alex ducked under Xander’s arm and made a dive for the barrier. “Last one through’s a rotten egg!

 

+

 

“Come on, come on, you’re going to be late!” Molly Weasley hastily untied her apron and flung it in the direction of the kitchen table. It missed its mark by several feet and landed instead on the stove, where it immediately burst into flames. She frantically doused them with a stream of water from the tip of her wand. “Ooh, and that was my _good_ apron, too!”

 

“Gram, Grace is wearing my robes!”

 

“No I’m not, they’re mine!”

 

“They’ve got a Slytherin crest, you little idiot!”

 

“I’ll cut it off!”

 

“Don’t you dare!”

 

“ _Girls_!” Molly admonished, glaring at them both. “Stop fighting and get your things. You can sort it all out on the train!”

 

“Freddie, give it _back_!”

 

Molly whirled around. “Selene, stop strangling your brother!”

 

“He took my wand!”

 

“Artie, catch!” Freddie threw the wand in his cousin’s direction. Artie caught it, and scrambled under the coffee table. Selene growled and dove after him.

 

Molly grabbed Freddie by the ear and hauled him in the direction of the stairs, and the sound of a toddler wailing. “See to your cousin!”

 

Freddie contorted his face in disgust. “But she’s a _baby!_ ”

 

“Babies are boring!” Artie announced, sticking his head out from under the table. Molly glared down at him.

 

“Arthur Ramses Weasley, hand over that wand this instant! _You_ are going to denome the garden for me this afternoon, young man. Don’t think I don’t know who exploded those pies at dinner last night!”

 

“Has anyone seen Will?” Amaryllis skidded into the room, holding up a Defense Against the Dark Arts text book. “His book was in my trunk.”

 

“He’s out back with Uncle George!” called Max, passing through on his way to the kitchen. “Have you seen Uncle Ron?”

 

“He’s hiding upstairs,” Selene announced, sitting up and carefully tucking her wand behind her left ear for safe keeping. “He and Uncle Harry are hiding under the beds in the boys’ room.”

 

Molly threw up her hands in exasperation. Every year it was the same story. “It’s their turn to take you to the station!”

 

+

 

By the time Giles and Xander found their way onto the platform, Alex had already manhandled his trunk onboard and into an empty compartment. Once Taryn had been persuaded to get off the train, he leaned out of the compartment window to say his last goodbyes.

 

“Be careful,” Giles instructed him sternly. “And do _try_ to stay out of trouble.”

 

“Have fun, kiddo,” said Xander with a wave, hoisting Taryn onto his shoulders.

 

“Don’t forget to feet Mr. Cat,” she counseled solemnly. “Clean your weapons before storing them, and always wear fresh underwear.”

 

“Weapons?” Giles said, alarmed. “What weapons?”

 

“Now, don’t forget the rules,” Xander said, pushing in front of the aging watcher. “No drinking, no smoking, no dating vampires.”

 

“Uncle _Xan-der_ ,” Alex groaned.

 

“I’m not finished, young man,” Xander reprimanded. “As a Sunnydale High survivor, you would do well to heed my valuable advice. Stay away from Incan mummies, fishy swim coaches, and giant bug people if you value your life, limbs, and manhood. You should also probably find the library in case anything Hellmouthy turns up.”

 

“Or in the unprecedented event that he may actually wish to study,” Giles added dryly.

 

“Don’t listen to him,” Xander said, waving Giles away. “Now go kick some magical butt!” Taryn patted her father fondly on the head, nodding in agreement.

 

The train gave a loud whistle.

 

“Hold up!” Xander exclaimed, digging into his pocket. He extracted a long, cylindrical package wrapped in Scooby Doo paper. He tossed it up. Alex caught it deftly. “From your mom. You know she wanted to be here, right?”

 

They had barely arrived in London that morning when an urgent call had come through from Cleveland. Buffy and Willow had been forced to teleport out almost immediately.

 

Alex forced a smile. “World isn’t going to save itself, right?”

 

“That-a-boy!” Xander shouted over the chugging of the engines. “Call us when you get there!”

 

Taryn waved furiously from her perch on Xander’s shoulders as the train began to move, slowly gathering speed as it pulled away from the platform. Alex waved back until they were completely out of sight.

 

+

 

The extended Weasley-Potter clan arrived at the station with a full ten minutes to spare. Ron and Harry quickly sorted everyone’s belongings onto trolleys, and they took it in turns to run through the barrier in pairs.

 

“Merlin, I don’t miss this part,” Ron complained loudly, surveying the crowded platform.

 

“You missed the excitement last year,” Amaryllis informed her father dryly. “We were halfway to Hogwarts before anyone realized Artie and Freddie had snuck on board. Hélène made the conductor stop the train so she could floo Uncle Bill to come and collect them.”

 

“Grandmum banned Uncle George from taking the kids to the station ever again,” Will remembered. “She was convinced he had something to do with it.”

 

A whistle blew, warning them that the train was preparing to depart.

 

Amaryllis jumped. “Will, we’re late! Bye, Dad! Bye, Uncle Harry!” She threw herself at her father. Ron caught her up in a big hug, laughing and spinning her around so her long red hair streamed out behind her.

 

“Have a good time at school, sweetheart.”

 

“Carry on, Will,” Harry said, and shook Will’s hand solemnly before pulling him into a quick hug. Will protested only slightly.

 

“Bye, Dad,” he said with a forced smile, and followed Amaryllis onto the train, a sudden knot tightening in his chest.

 

+

 

Alex flopped down onto a seat and looked across the compartment to where Mr. Cat had made himself at home on the opposite bench.

 

“Well, it’s just you and me, now, buddy.”

 

Mr. Cat yawned lazily and rolled upside down, closing his eyes. Alex fixed him with a disapproving look. “We’re on a magical train without adult supervision and you’re just going to _nap_?” he demanded. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

 

Mr. Cat purred contentedly.

 

“Well, I’m going to explore,” Alex informed him. “If you’d rather stay here and be boring, see if I care.”

 

Mr. Cat certainly didn’t.

 

Alex huffed and jumped to his feet. He stuck his mother’s parting gift – a stake he recognized as one of her old favorites – up his sleeve, his new wand up the other, and set off down the corridor with a swing in his step.

 

+

 

Ten minutes into the train ride, Will decided he would be insane by the time they reached Hogwarts if he didn’t escape _NOW_. His trunk had somehow ended up in the same compartment as Grace’s and Selene’s, and in the manner of giggly thirteen-year-old girls, they had been eager to show him off to their equally giggly, girly friends, who were just tickled to be the first to meet _The Great Harry Potter’s_ _son_.

 

The Great Harry Potter’s son decided that enough was enough. “Definitely _not_ Ravenclaw,” he muttered under his breath. Grabbing his robes and stuffing his wand in his back pocket, Will announced he was going to the bathroom to change. He closed the compartment door on the girls’ loud protests, and set off with purpose. As soon as he was out of sight of the compartment window, he ducked down and crawled on his belly back in the opposite direction. Once he was sure he was in the clear, he straightened, but unfortunately in his haste to get past the girls undetected, he paid less attention to what was going on ahead of him than he should have, and stood up directly in the path of another boy. The top of his head collided with the other boy’s chin, and they both reeled back with shouts of pain.

 

“Oi!” the other boy yelled, catching sight of Will’s face. “It’s you again!”

 

“What?” Will said dazedly, rubbing his head. “What are you on about?” He glared back through his tousled bangs.

 

“Just stay away from me!” the other boy said loudly, pushing past him. “I don’t need this shite from firsties!” He barreled off down the corridor, swatting at the seat of his pants, which were revealed, Will noticed, through a smoking hole in the back of his robes.

 

“What the…?” he muttered to himself, but shook his head and set off again, determined to find Amaryllis and sensible, non-aggressive company.

 

 

+

 

A veritable giant of a man (if he was 100% human, Alex would eat his new pointy hat) met them at Hogsmeade Station, and called for the first years to follow him. He introduced himself as Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds, and professor of Care of Magical Creatures. Alex grinned to himself. He was totally going to ace that class.

 

Hagrid led them to a small fleet of boats docked along the edge of a lake. Alex got into a boat with three other students; two girls he recognized from the train, and a tall boy who introduced himself rather imperiously as Edward Jackass III, or some such shit, but Alex wasn’t really listening.

 

“I’m a half-blood, of course,” Edward informed them as though they should already know all of this. “My father’s an auror, and Mother’s actually a rather well-known muggle film actress. I really get the best of both worlds. What about you lot?”

 

“Muggle-born,” one of the girls said shyly.

 

“Both my parents are wizards,” the other girl said with a shrug.

 

“Well, I’m sure – I’m sorry, did you say they are both _wizards_?”

 

“Yeah, what of it?” the girl asked defensively, bristling at his tone.

 

 “ _Well_ ,” Edward said, straightening in his seat, “I just don’t understand how _that sort_ can –”

 

“You finish that sentence, Eddy, and I will personally introduce your face to my fist,” Alex interjected smoothly.

 

“Let me guess, your Daddy’s a poof as well?” Edward said viciously.

 

“Dunno,” Alex said with a shrug. “Never met him. Left when I was a baby.” He turned pointedly away from the other boy. “So!” he said cheerfully to the girls. “Got any siblings?”

 

The girl with two wizard fathers shook her head, but the first girl nodded.

 

“Two older sisters,” she said, smiling hesitantly. “Louise is a witch, but Ellen’s going to be a lawyer.”

 

“Hopefully not the evil kind,” Alex joked. “Are your parents lawyers, too?”

 

She shook her head. “No, they’re teachers. What about your mum? What does she do?”

 

Alex was saved from answering ( _“She saves the world a lot.”_ ) by Edward, who muttered something unsavory under his breath about what Alex’s mum probably did, and that was when Alex’s self-restraint snapped, and he pushed Edward overboard into the lake.

 

+

 

A loud yell and a splash made Will jerk his head around. There was a flurry of activity in one of the other boats, and someone was flailing around in the dark water.

 

_“Oh, shit, he can’t swim!”_ he heard an accented voice yell across the silent lake, and another figure, silhouetted in the small pool of light from the boat’s lamp, stripped off his robes and dove into the water.

 

“Everyone jus’ stay put!” Hagrid bellowed, manually steering his boat with huge, powerful oar strokes in the direction of the two who had gone overboard. The second boy had latched onto the first, but the first one was panicking and thrashing around. “I gotcha, boys!”

 

He grabbed the taller, floundering figure by the collar and hoisted him out of the water. It was too dark to see clearly, but everyone let out a sigh of relief when the second boy hauled himself up on his own.

 

_“I was trying to help you, you idiot!”_ the would-be-rescuer yelled. _“God, you’re eleven-years-old and you can’t_ swim?”

 

Will wished he could hear the half-drowned boy’s response, but Hagrid chose that moment to smack him on the back, and while the boy was busy coughing up a lung, Hagrid called for the boats to move out.

 

+

 

The man who opened the front door was as tiny in stature as Rubeus Hagrid was large.

 

“Firs’ years, Professor Flitwick,” Hagrid announced, herding them inside.

 

“This way, this way, please!” Professor Flitwick said in a squeaky voice, beckoning them all forward. “Welcome to Hogwarts! If you would all wait here for just a moment, I will lead you to the Great Hall to be sorted into your Houses!” He hurried off, leaving the first years alone in the Entrance Hall.

 

“How do they sort us?” one girl wondered nervously.

 

“My uncle says you have to fight a troll, but he’d lie to his own mother,” a boy Alex couldn’t see responded dryly.

 

“I heard we have to fight a dragon,” Edward admitted, looking more than a little sorry for himself.

 

Alex looked sideways at him. “That wouldn’t be too bad,” he decided, and then took pity on the soggy looking boy. “I’m kidding,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Cheer up, Eddy.”

 

Edward looked at him distrustfully.

 

“Look,” Alex said, sighing. “No hard feelings, ok? I mean, if I hear another homophobic slur I’ll kick your butt into next week, but it’s the first day so I’m willing to let you slide. You don’t ever mention my mother again, and I won’t tell everyone what you blubbered about when you thought you were still drowning. Capisce?”

 

He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Edward accepted it for a moist shake.

 

“That was you in the water?” a strangely familiar voice said behind him.

 

“Yeah, it was kind of my fault to begin with,” Alex said, turning to explain. “I –” He stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open comically as he came face to face with his own face.

 

“Merlin’s pants!” his double swore, grey-green eyes wide in a pale face.

 

“Hot damn!” Alex added for good measure.

 

Professor Flitwick chose that moment to return, and there wasn’t time to say anything more. “The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin, so if you’ll all just follow me – oh, do be careful, there seems to be a large puddle of water over here by the doors…”

 

+

 

The Great Hall was a truly spectacular sight, full of chattering students, floating candles, and a ceiling that seemed to be non-existent. But Alex’s attention was focused solely on his mysterious doppelganger. He was itching to interrogate the other boy, and from the furtive looks he was receiving in return, the feeling was mutual. But there was no opportunity to talk as they filed past long tables of noisy students towards the front of the room.

 

Alex fidgeted impatiently as a stocky man in professors’ robes brought forth a wobbly, three-legged stool and an ancient wizard’s hat. The hat sang a song, which was an unexpected but not altogether unpleasant experience owing to its rich baritone voice, and Alex surmised that there was going to be some kind of ritualistic ceremony. His suspicions were confirmed as one by one, the first years were called up to try on the hat, which everyone seemed to have pre-decided was the best judge of character the school had to offer.

 

As far as rituals went it seemed pretty non-lethal, although Alex made a mental note to check for lice later on.

 

In some cases, such as Merrythought, Melissa ( _RAVENCLAW!),_ the verdict was almost instantaneous, but in others, the hat lingered. Still, everything seemed to be progressing as expected until the professor reading off the names called “Potter, William!” and the hall erupted  into a fresh burst of enthusiastic chatter. Alex’s mysterious look-alike detached himself almost reluctantly from the line of first years and moved to the front. At the long tables, older children were actually standing up to get a better look, and the excitement level at the red and gold table in particular reached supersonic.

 

Alex held his breath as his double – _William_ – disappeared underneath the brim of the ancient hat.

 

The hall fell silent as though everyone else was also holding their breath, but after a full five minutes had elapsed, and it became clear that Potter, William’s sorting was going to be a long one, people began conversing quietly amongst themselves again. When the hat did finally reach its verdict after nine minutes, forty-two seconds, everyone was thoroughly distracted and completely unprepared for the hat’s pseudo-mouth to open wide and bellow “HUFFLEPUFF!” at the top of its, er, lung-equivalents.

 

The red and gold table burst into immediate applause, and then stopped abruptly, looking perplexed. An awkward silence ensued, and everyone was looking at each other in confusion.  Alex used his powers of deduction once again to surmise that this was not the result people had anticipated.

 

William had removed the hat and was standing awkwardly, so Alex, feeling bad for the guy, took it upon himself to whistle loudly and start to clap. “Nice going, man!” he called charitably, even though there was still the possibility that he was evil.

 

William looked over at him in surprise, but then he smiled and nodded, and the rest of the hall woke up from its stupor and the table decked out in yellow and black cheered and hollered for five minutes straight before the professor with the list shot off several fire crackers and got everyone under control again.

 

The second half of the alphabet went quickly, but Alex, who was second-to-last with an S-U, was practically dancing in place when they finally got to him.

 

“Summers, Sirius!” the professor called, consulting his list.

 

Alex rolled his eyes and bounced forward. “It’s _Alex_ ,” he corrected loudly, but didn’t wait for a response and jammed the hat down over his ears.

 

_Well, what do we have here?_ the hat’s voice spoke into his mind. _Courage in spades, and intelligence, yes, and – ah ha! – a rather devious streak, I see! Where shall I put you?_

_Hufflepuff, please_ , Alex thought back politely.

 

_Hufflepuff?_ the hat repeated, surprised. _Are you sure? It seems like a hasty decision to me – I can see into your mind you know –_

_Obviously_ , Alex thought sarcastically.

 

– _and I really don’t think –_

_Yeah, I don’t care,_ Alex interrupted. _Look, I’d love to stick around and argue all night – and believe me, I will – but  I’m hungry and I’ve got a potentially evil doppelganger to interrogate before bedtime, so how about we make this quick and you just sort me into Hufflepuff?_

_I don’t think you understand how this works,_ the hat said dryly.

 

_I don’t think_ you _understand who you’re dealing with,_ Alex countered, conjuring a mental image of Aunt Faith’s knife collection. _So unless you want to be donated to the nearest Salvation Army, this is how it’s going to work…_

_…_

_…_

_…_

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat cried for the entire hall to hear, and if anyone noticed an edge of hysteria in its voice, it went unmentioned.

 

+

 

“So,” Alex began conversationally, spearing a piece of chicken from the nearest platter. “You evil?”

 

“Pardon?” Will said, staring at him blankly from across the table. “Why would you ask that?”

 

“It’s been known to happen,” Alex said defensively. “It’s William, right? Obviously there’s something hellmouthy going on here. Have you always looked like that? This?” He gestured to his own face.

 

“Of course I have,” Will said indignantly. “Look, Summers, I don’t know what you’re playing at –”

 

“Oh, like it’s _my_ fault,” Alex interrupted. “What are _you_ playing at?”

 

“Nothing!” Will insisted, beginning to get agitated. He took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s say this is all a coincidence. This happens sometimes, right?”

 

“Maybe in the wizarding world,” Alex scoffed, “but there are two things I was raised not to believe in: coincidences and leprechauns.”

 

Will rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows leprechauns are real. It’s their gold that’s fake. Wait, are you saying you’re a muggleborn?”

 

“Seriously, leprechauns?” Alex’s jaw dropped. “Mom is going to freak! Oh, um, what did you ask me?”

 

“I asked if you’re a muggleborn. You…obviously don’t recognize me.” Will’s dad tried his best to keep his picture out of the newspapers, but Will had mostly inherited the distinctive Potter look, so it was something of a moot point.

 

“What, you some kind of celebrity?” Alex snorted. “And yeah, I guess. Sort of. I think?”

 

“How do you not know?” Will asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

 

Alex considered how to answer. _My mom’s a mystical warrior who isn’t completely human because of her inherited demon powers and coming back from the dead, etc, so I’m not sure if she counts as a muggle_ really wasn’t appropriate dinner conversation to be having with strangers, so he went with the simpler response. “I never knew my dad,” he admitted. “So I guess he could have been a wizard.”

 

Will froze. A sudden, obvious, terrible, amazing thought occurred to him. But it couldn’t be true. _Dad would have told me,_ he thought desperately. _He would have told me!_

“Is your father dead?” he asked finally. It came out more of a croak than a sentence.

 

Alex frowned, and nudged a goblet of water across the table. “I hope not. No, my parents just split up. Mom doesn’t like to talk about it.”

 

“And she doesn’t know for sure? That he wasn’t a wizard?” Will pressed.

 

Alex shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I mean, you would think she would, but…no one else in the family ever met him. Mom was gone for over a year, and then she just showed up one day with me. I know she never told him about being the – about the family business. So maybe he was keeping secrets, too.” He felt suddenly exposed. He was always careful to pretend he didn’t care that his dad was gone, didn’t know anything about him, really, aside from a first name, but admitting it to this boy who looked exactly like him and probably had a _fantastic_ father hurt unexpectedly. Snappishly, he added, “But I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

 

“My mother left when I was a baby,” Will said steadily, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “And my dad never told her he was a wizard.”

 

They stared across the table into identical eyes. Neither of them was stupid. It was obvious where this conversation was going.

 

Alex licked his lips. “What was her name?” he asked carefully. “My mom’s name is really unusual.”

 

“So is mine,” Will admitted.

 

“Ok, on the count of three.”

 

“One -”

 

“Two -”

 

“Three -”

 

“ _Buffy_ ,” they said in unison.

 

Alex laughed shakily. “So…”

 

Will rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

 

The much-older boy beside them, who had been deeply involved in a sports debate with his friends and hadn’t so much as glanced in their direction since the feast began chose that moment to look up from his treacle tart and the squiggly Quidditch plays he’d been drawing on his napkin.

 

He cocked his head to one side. “You know, the two of you look remarkably alike! Are you brothers?”

 


	5. Of Wands and Wiccans

** Of Wands and Wiccans **

_In which magic works differently than Alex expects._

_+  
_

 

“You turn _left_ at the statue of the kneeling leper, _right_ at the tapestry of Archibald the Deceiver playing cribbage, and take the _second_ staircase on your _left_ down three floors. You will appear to arrive at a dead end, but scratch the cat beneath its chin and the doorway will reveal itself. You will then find yourselves in an antechamber off the Entrance Hall.”

 

“There’s a cat?” Alex said, completely mystified.

 

The helpful portrait they had stopped to ask for directions adjusted his monocle. “ _Yes_ ,” he said in a long suffering sort of way. “Now begone, young wizards!” He waved his quill at them emphatically.

 

“Come on,” Will said, hoisting his school bag back onto his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. Thank you, Sir.”

 

“Hmmm,” the portrait hemmed, returning to his notes.

 

“This place is insane,” said Alex.

 

 “It’s Hogwarts,” said Will. “What did you expect?”

 

They followed the portrait’s directions through the winding halls of the castle, and down three flights of stairs, where they indeed reached a dead end, and a massive painting that seemed to be nothing _but_ cats.

 

“Good grief,” Alex muttered, and began scratching all of the chins he could reach.

 

They finally got the door open (the gray tiger in the bottom left-hand corner) and hurried through. By the time they reached the Great Hall, breakfast was in full swing. They found empty seats at one end of the Hufflepuff table and were about to dig in when a swarm of redheads descended upon them like locusts.

 

Alex was somewhat alarmed, and reached for his stake impulsively. Will recognized this new evil for what it truly was – his family.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“How’d you manage –”

 

“Will! What did you – ”

 

“Quiet!” Max, the oldest and only male Weasley said, holding up his hand for silence. “Now,” he said, looking between them, “I know you’re Will –” he pointed at Will, “because I recognize your bag, so you must be Sirius.” He pointed at Alex. “Summers, wasn’t it?”

 

“It’s _Alex_ ,” Alex said exasperatedly. “ _Alex_ Summers. Alexander if you’re being stuffy.”

 

“I was sure the hat said Sirius.”

 

“Oh, never mind,” broke in Selene. “His name doesn’t matter! Why does he look exactly like Will?”

 

“Hey – sitting right here!”

 

“Why do you look exactly like Will?” Grace demanded.

 

“It matters,” Max explained patiently, “because Sirius Black was the name of Uncle Harry’s godfather who died in the War.”

 

Amaryllis screwed up her face in confusion. “So what does that mean?”

 

Will glanced sideways at Alex, and shrugged. “He’s my brother.”

 

“ _What?”_

 

“We’re twins,” Alex added helpfully, as though it wasn’t painfully obvious. He did his best to imitate Will’s expression of carefully composed boredom and reached nonchalantly for his goblet. This composure broke when he took a generous swing and nearly had to spit the mouthful back out. “Oh my god, what _is_ this? It’s disgusting!” He glared down at the offending drink.

 

“Pumpkin juice,” Will said, and passed him a glass of water.

 

“Merlin,” Amaryllis breathed, remembering the ice cream incident of only the week before.

 

“How can you be twins?” Hélène, who was a twin herself, demanded. “You only met each other yesterday!”

 

“If they really are twins, I’d dare say they’ve met before,” Roseline pointed out dryly. “For nine months minimum.”

 

Hélène threw her cousin a dirty look.

 

“It’s simple,” Will said, wisely interrupting before things god ugly. Hélène and Roz always managed to rub each other the wrong way. “Our parents broke up when we were babies. Dad took me, Mum took Alex, and neither of them bothered to tell us the other existed. Pass the bacon, please.”

 

“I always assumed your Mum was dead,” Selene said, wide-eyed. “Ow, Amaryllis!”

 

Amaryllis had stomped on her foot under the table.

 

“Not recently,” Alex quipped, but since he hadn’t exactly broached the topic of their mother’s numerous brushes with death, not even Will understood the joke. The Weasleys, for their parts, all looked at him oddly.

 

“Alex?” Max tried the name out. “You’re American?”

 

“Yup,” Alex said, popping his P loud enough to make any So-Cal native proud. He’d never actually been to California, but he’d learned from the best. “Look. Before you start asking a zillion questions, I’m going to tell you that the answer to all of them is probably ‘we don’t know’. If Will and I hadn’t both ended up at Hogwarts – and believe me, the only reason I did was because Mom has always had a thing for pigs, my first choice personally was that crazy French school in Louisiana – we might never have even met. We need to answer our own questions first, and hey! – who the heck are you guys anyways???”

 

The Weasleys were stunned into silence. Will had never been prone to lengthy speeches, and to suddenly be confronted with his babbling doppelganger was startling.

 

“I guess we should all introduce ourselves,” Max, ever the practical one, decided finally. “Will, do the honors?”

 

“I’m Will,” said Will, and took a large bite of toast.

 

Amaryllis groaned. “You are such a loser sometimes. I’ll do it.”

 

She sat up straighter and flipped her wavy auburn hair over one shoulder. “Hi! I’m Amaryllis Weasley.” She stuck her hand out for Alex to shake. “We’re all Weasleys, actually, so I’ll leave that off for the rest. My parents were best friends with Uncle Harry – that’s your dad, I guess.”

 

She beamed brightly.

 

“This is Roseline, she’s my older sister, and Grace, Hélène, and Max are all Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur’s kids. Hélène’s twin sister, Elise, goes to Beauxbatons, and they have a little brother named Arthur but he’s too young for school. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to remember all of this immediately, it’s very complicated, I’ll make you a spreadsheet later so you can learn everyone’s names, occupations, etc…”

 

Amaryllis rattled off a dozen other names and relationships, but even though he was genuinely interested in learning everything there was to know about this newfound branch of his family, it wasn’t even eight o’clock, which was like, two or three in the morning according to Alex’s internal clock. He focused on the names he could put faces to, and the left the rest for Will to reiterate later.

 

The Weasley family was apparently ginormous, but there were only (ha!) six of them currently enrolled at Hogwarts. Amaryllis, Roseline, and Max were all in Gryffindor, the red and gold house that had cheered so presumptuously at Will’s sorting. Grace and Selene were both third year Ravenclaws, and Hélène was the lone Slytherin in the family. Apparently there had never been a Hufflepuff in recent memory.

 

When Amaryllis finally finished, which coincided with everyone else finishing their breakfasts, Alex introduced himself more formally.

 

“I guess my real name is Sirius Alexander Summers,” he told them. “Mom dropped Sirius when I was a baby and started calling me Alex, after my Uncle Xander. And you were right,” he addressed Max. “I’m pretty sure I was named after that Sirius Black guy, whoever he was.”

 

Will eyed Amaryllis, who looked like she was ready to launch into the Weasley-Potter Family History, Part II, and decided to intervene. “I’m William Ronald Potter,” he introduced again, because full names were something twins were supposed to know about each other. “Uncle Ron’s been Dad’s best friend since school. I honestly don’t know where the name William came from.”

 

“Probably Aunt Willow,” Alex said cheerfully. “She’s a seriously awesome Wicca.”

 

They all looked at him blankly.

 

“What’s a Wicca?” Grace asked curiously.

 

+

 

There was no time to explain what a Wicca was, which was probably for the best. One of the prefects came around with schedules (Alex was disappointed to discover that Care of Magical Creatures was only offered to third years and above), and then a bell rang to signal that breakfast was over and classes were about to begin. As all of the Weasleys were older, Will and Alex would be on their own for the rest of the day.

 

Their first class was Transfiguration, which was actually located down one of the corridors they had mistakenly wound up in earlier that morning, so they found the classroom in plenty of time. Along the way, Will told Alex that he was disappointed that Headmistress McGonagall, who was an old family friend and often came for Christmas Eve dinner, only taught N.E.W.T. level classes. She was a strict witch with a no-nonsense attitude and steel grey hair pulled in a severe bun, but Will had always gotten on famously with her.

 

Alex was simply relieved to find that they weren’t expected to tackle anything beyond basic mice-to-snuffbox transfigurations before the end of their first term; he had always been a bit leery about transforming humans into animals or vice versa. You never knew when someone might get stuck.

 

For their first lesson, they were given matchsticks to transfigure into needles, but no one had much luck. One girl managed a sort of overcooked piece of spaghetti, and Will got his match to change colors, but then Alex set the entire back row on fire and the professor let them all out early.

 

+

 

Their second class of the day was Charms, with tiny Professor Flitwick who actually had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. He was funny and kind, however, and apparently an ex-dueling champion if the rumors were true, and both boys couldn’t help but take an immediate liking to his class.

 

Flitwick began the lesson with an introductory lecture on charm theory, but managed to keep everyone’s interest by doing several practical demonstrations. He made streams of violet bubbles cascade out of the tip of his wand, charmed a folded up paper crane to flap its wings and fly around the room in circles, and levitated several objects in quick succession.

 

Alex, who was unused to such casual displays of magic, was extremely impressed.

 

Flitwick set them wand movements to practice with a partner for the remainder of the period, and moved between the desks observing and offering advice.

 

“A little lighter on your flick?” Will suggested when a stream of particularly angry-looking red sparks fizzled out of Alex’s wand. They weren’t performing real spells, but Flitwick told them to concentrate on producing differently colored sparks for each wand movement, to get a feel for things. “Let’s not set anything else on fire today!”

 

“Ugh!” Alex cried, shaking his bone-white wand forcefully. “I think this thing is broken! I don’t understand why I have to use it in the first place,” he pouted. “I can already do tons of stuff without it.”

 

He dropped his wand on the table and levitated Will’s quill wandlessly.

 

“Mr. Summers!” Flitwick squeaked as he passed their table. Alex dropped the quill immediately and grabbed for his wand. “Oh my! That’s very – _well_ , we aren’t scheduled to begin levitation charms until October! How did you – I never!” He looked like he was about to burst from excitement, but controlled himself. “I really must ask you to stick with the lesson at hand, but perhaps we can talk later in the term about assigning – oh, I’m getting ahead of myself, but it’s just so refreshing to discover a natural! 1 point to Hufflepuff for enthusiasm!” He beamed at them before moving on.

 

“That was incredible!” Will whispered. “Your back was to him so he thought you were just copying his charm from before, but…that was something else. How did you do that?”

 

“Aunt Willow taught me,” Alex whispered back, pleased by his brother’s admiration. “And I can levitate a lot more than a feather!” he boasted.

 

(The largest thing Alex had ever levitated was a house cat. It had not gone well.)

 

Will’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.

 

“I’ll teach you at lunch,” Alex promised, accurately interpreting the expression. “It’s totally easy. We’ll have Flitwick eating out of the palms of our hands for the rest of the year!”

 

+

 

They later agreed that the lunch table was not the best place to practice wandless levitation.

 

Will took to it naturally, which probably had as much to do with Alex’s heartfelt encouragement as it did with any inborn talent, and after they had both mastered the basics on scraps of parchment and small vegetables, they began challenging each other to successively heavier objects.

 

Part of the game was that no one else was allowed to see them do it. Alex surmised and Will confirmed that eleven-year-old wizards were not, as a rule, capable of performing wandless magic.

 

Will managed to float a fifth year’s cutlery from several seats down the table, to which Alex responded by attempting to levitate a large tureen of soup. It was heavier than he’d anticipated, however, and he had barely managed to get it off the table before his control slipped and it fell, splashing broth and noodles everywhere.

 

One of the professors descended immediately and docked several points from the group of fifth years for playing with their food. Alex and Will had to stuff their sleeves in their mouth to stop from laughing out loud and giving the game away.

 

Deciding enough was enough, they turned their attention back to their own meals and resumed sorting out their family history for the rest of lunch.

 

+

 

By the time their after-lunch break was over, Will had explained that their father was something of a war-hero, which in turn gave Alex an opening to explain what a Vampire Slayer was.

 

Both of their parents had been “Chosen” by prophecy and mystical powers to save the world. They had been drawn to each other not knowing this, had two children, and when they broke up they returned to their old lives, never knowing that the partner they were leaving behind was as close to a kindred soul as they were ever likely to find in a hundred lifetimes.

 

And now their sons had found each other again. And they were about to be late for double Herbology in Greenhouse 1.

 

They ran like a pack of Hellhounds was snapping at their heels and managed to slip in just as the final bell sounded. They were given a standard safety lecture in which it was highly emphasized that they should never, ever touch anything they couldn’t identify if they valued their fingers. Which is pretty much a good life rule, when you think about it.

 

“The Professor’s staring at us,” Alex muttered sideways at Will as they practiced repotting some of the harmless herbs used for potion-making.

 

Will glanced hastily over his shoulder.

 

“That’s Uncle Neville,” he whispered back. “One of Dad’s old friends.”

 

“You have too many Uncles,” Alex complained. “I can’t keep track.”

 

They split up when Professor Longbottom called for them to switch groups. Will found himself working alongside a couple of boys he’d met in passing before Hogwarts, and Alex was always quick to make new friends. The time passed quickly and cheerfully.

 

“Mr. Potter, stay behind,” Professor Longbottom called out as the bell rang signaling the end of class.

 

Will dropped back and Alex, who was already halfway out the door, hesitated as well.

 

Will shook his head. “Let me handle this. I’ll meet you at dinner.”

 

Alex shrugged. “Okay. Hey, Ysolda! Wait up!” He jogged off after one of the girls from his herbology group.

 

Will turned away from the door. “Is there a problem, Professor?”

 

“You can call me Neville when we’re alone,” Uncle Neville said kindly. “I changed your diapers, you know.” He began clearing off the tables. “Which is how I know there was only one of you until yesterday.”

 

Will began stacking extra pots. “Um…”

 

“If I didn’t know better, I would say Mr. Summers is not a Summers at all,” Neville continued conversationally. “At the Sorting Ceremony I was startled, but it’s hard to get a good look at anyone once they’re under the Hat.”

 

“Godric Gryffindor had a pretty big head,” Will agreed.

 

“But then I looked for him again today. There were too many Weasley’s in the way at breakfast, but I watched the two of you at lunch - which one of you was the soup tureen, by the way?”

 

“Alex,” Will admitted.

 

“Interesting. Anyways, I started thinking things through, and I realized that in fact, I _did_ know better, because once when your dad was very, _very_ drunk,” Neville continued, “he told me that your mother’s name was Buffy Summers.” He paused in his work to fix Will with a long stare. “Do you understand what that means, Will?”

 

“I already know Alex is my brother, Uncle Neville,” Will said softly. And then, a little bolder, “I’m not exactly stupid, you know!”

 

Neville laughed. “I know you’re not. But I wanted to make sure. Have you written to your father yet?”

 

“No.” Will hesitated. “Would you…not tell him you know, please? I want to tell him myself, and ask – ” He stopped, his voice catching.

 

“Ask him why he never told you,” Neville finished for him. “Did Alex know?”

 

Will shook his head.

 

Neville considered him thoughtfully for a long moment. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll leave it alone until you tell me otherwise. But you’ve got to tell him eventually, Will. Your mum, too. They’d want to know.”

 

“We will,” Will promised. A pause.  “After we torment them a bit.”

 

Neville laughed again, and shooed him out of the greenhouse.

 

+

 

“Why is Hufflepuff so yellow?” Alex asked later that evening. They were in the house common room, which was a cozy affair with low ceilings and an earthy vibe. They were tucked up head-to-foot at opposite ends of a squashy yellow couch. Mr. Cat was sprawled out on the floor beside them, belly up and purring.

 

“I guess Helga Hufflepuff liked yellow,” Will guessed sleepily. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. It had been a long first day.

 

Alex propped himself up on his elbows. “Who’s Helga Hufflepuff?”

 

Will forced his eyes open and gave his brother a funny look. “Weren’t you paying attention at the Sorting Ceremony?”

 

Alex looked at him blankly. He _had_ been paying attention – to Will. Obviously he had missed something important.

 

“She was one of the four Hogwarts Founders,” Will explained. “All of the houses are named after one – Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin.” He waited for some sign of recognition from Alex, but none was forthcoming, so he went on. “They build Hogwarts and divided the students into four houses. Did you really not listen to any of this?”

 

Alex shrugged and settled back down. “I was distracted. I remember the hat saying something about being brave and smart, but I thought it was just complimenting me.”

 

Will’s gaze was already directed at the ceiling, or else he would have rolled his eyes. “It was trying to sort you, you idiot. Bravery – that’s Gryffindor. Didn’t it tell you why it put you in Hufflepuff? You were under there for a long time.”

 

“Not as long as you were!” Alex laughed. “I thought it had swallowed you.”

 

“We had a long chat,” Will said evasively. “It wanted me to…consider other options.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Alex admitted. “’Course, I told it Hufflepuff _or else_.” He smiled in satisfaction at the memory. “It kept muttering about Slytherin cunning, but it saw things my way in the end. I can be very persuasive.” Alex sounded extremely proud of this fact.

 

“Slytherin?” Will repeated, a little surprised. Alex seemed to him too… _loud_ for the serpent house.

 

“What’s wrong with Slytherin?” Alex asked curiously, misinterpreting his tone. “Isn’t Hélène in Slytherin?”

 

“Nothing,” Will said quickly. “I was just surprised, is all.”

 

“I’ve heard a couple people talk about Slytherin that way,” Alex remembered, furrowing his brows. “Nothing bad, but they sort of…hesitate. I don’t get it – don’t they like green?”

 

As if on cue, Will hesitated. “Slytherin has a bit of reputation,” he said finally. “Voldemort was a Slytherin, you see.”

 

“So people don’t like them because of that? That’s silly!”

 

“Well, a lot of other dark wizards were in Slytherin,” Will defended. “And everyone says Salazar Slytherin was dark, too.”

 

“But he must have died a thousand years ago! That makes no sense,” Alex huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you said Voldemort’s dead – why do people still care?”

 

“Dad thinks it’s stupid,” Will agreed. “He says people are just touchy. It’s getting better, but a _lot_ of death eaters were in Slytherin. Everyone talked about it when Hélène was sorted. I was really young, but I remember everyone was really surprised because Weasleys hardly ever get sorted into Slytherin. But no one _minded_. Our family’s not like that.”

 

He was suddenly anxious to assure Alex of this fact. From what little he had gleaned of Alex’s side of the family, he already knew they were very keen on tolerance and second chances.

 

“Good,” Alex said firmly, and that was the end of that. He nudged Will’s shoulder with his toe. “So where’d the hat want to put _you_? Not Slytherin?”

 

“It talked about all of the houses, but no, not really. It just couldn’t decide.”

 

“Hmm,” Alex said thoughtfully, reaching down to scratch Mr. Cat’s chin with two fingers. “I like Hufflepuff,” he decided cheerfully. “What’s our thing supposed to be? Ferociousness?”

 

“What?” Will said, wrinkling his nose.

 

“The badger,” Alex elaborated. “They’re fierce.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I guess they are. But Hufflepuffs are supposed to value patience, hard work, and loyalty. And fair play. That sort of thing.”

 

Alex was quiet for a moment as he considered this. “I like that,” he said finally. “Loyalty – that’s a lot more important than being smart or brave, don’t you think?”

 

“Loyalty,” Will repeated, testing the word out on his tongue. “Sounds right to me.”

 

 


	6. Of Boggarts and Broomsticks

** Chapter Six: Of Boggarts and Broomsticks **

_In which Alex is a natural, Will gets invited to tea, and Uncle Neville saves the day._

 

+

 

The Hufflepuffs were a good-natured, easy-going lot who were mostly willing to accept people at face value (even if they happened to be wearing the same face) and the rest of Hogwarts was too busy to take much notice of two identical first years with different last names – even if one of them happened to be Potter.

 

By the second week of school, most people seemed to have forgotten that Will was Harry Potter’s son or that Alex was an anomalous American muggleborn. They soon became known simply as WillandAlex, and everyone treated them as though they’d always come as a pair.

 

This suited WillandAlex just fine, because neither of them had actually mentioned finding their long-lost twin to either of their parents and it just wouldn’t do for _The Prophet_ to run some kind of exposé before they had a chance to hash it out.

 

By a stroke of coincidence – not that Alex would admit to believing in such things, leprechauns be damned – the boys received news from home on the same day.

 

Their letters arrived with the rest of the morning post. Will solemnly accepted a brown-paper-wrapped parcel from a majestic Great Horned Owl (“Howard, he’s Dad’s.”) and Alex received a US Postal Service Priority Mail package (the sort you didn’t have to pay for until you mailed it) from an oddly twitchy barn owl.

 

Will’s parcel contained a long, chatty letter from their father that had them both laughing at his lurid and unflattering description of a visiting foreign ambassador to the British Ministry of Magic, whom Harry had been tricked into lunching with by his soon-to-be-ex-friend, Minister Shacklebolt.

 

(In Minister Shacklebolt’s defense, he really had no idea that in the Ambassador’s country, shaking hands over a nice roast was akin to a proposal of marriage.)

 

They shared Will’s assortment of sweets in lieu of breakfast. Alex’s box of goodies also contained a letter, but it was typewritten and annotated by several different voices. But the first page was from their mother. At Will’s insistence, he read it out loud.

 

_Hey, Baby!_

 

“Ugh, _Mom_ ,” Alex muttered under his breath.

 

_How old school is this? The last time I sent a letter was…I don’t even remember. I can’t believe you don’t get e-mail at that school!_

_How is school? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there to say good-bye. The good news is, no apocalypse in Cleveland! Things weren’t as bad as we thought. There were these really ugly slime monsters, but totally slayable. Uncle Robin broke his arm but that was only because he slipped in a puddle of yuck. He’s in a cast but with Aunt Willow’s healing mojo he should be better in no time._

_Everyone here misses you. Taryn flooded the kitchen when Aunt Willow told her she can’t learn magic until she’s eight._

_You might want to get that owl checked out before sending him back. I don’t really understand owl training, but he looked a little twitchy to me. His name is Jareth because Uncle Andrew is going through a minor David Bowie revival phase._

_Love and kisses!_

_XOXO Mom_

There were letters from the rest of the family, but Alex folded them up to read later. He opened a packet of Twinkies (Uncle Xander’s contribution) and offered one to Will.

 

“I wish I could meet her,” Will said, his mood dampening even as he bit into the sugary treat.

 

“You will,” Alex promised through a mouthful of sweet processed goodness. He swallowed. “Should we write back and tell them?”

 

Will bit his lip, but shook his head determinedly. “Not yet. Dad will just worry.”

 

“Mom will freak out,” Alex agreed.

 

It would be best, they decided, to keep their secret for a while longer.

 

+

 

As everyone settled into their routines, Will and Alex started making more of an effort to socialize with the other Hufflepuffs in their year. They shared a dorm with five other boys, and the one thing they all had in common was Quidditch.

 

“What’s Quidditch?” Alex asked innocently one evening in the Hufflepuff common room. He had heard the strange word several times by that point.

 

The other boys goggled at him.

 

“Only the best sport ever!” cried Gabriel Wood-Smythe. “Potter, you haven’t told him about Quidditch?!”

 

He made this sound like a cardinal sin.

 

The other first year boys and a couple of the girls gathered around to watch as Gabriel went into an epic account of his favorite sport. By the time he had finished explaining the positions, equipment, and championship structure, half of the common room was listening in with amusement. Several of the older students took it in turns to interject loudly whenever Gabriel paused for breath, and by the time the speech was winding down, Alex realized that Quidditch was not a sport at all – it was a cult.

 

And it sounded _amazing_.

 

“Where do I sign up?” he demanded eagerly. Will, who had long since given up on his potion’s essay, rolled his eyes.

 

For the first time, Gabriel’s expression turned sour. “First years aren’t allowed broomsticks,” he said miserably. “They make an exception if you make the house team, but _no one_ makes the house team their first year. Except –” He looked at Will, a light dawning in his eyes.

 

“Except for Harry Potter,” one of the older boys finished, eyeing Will thoughtfully.

 

“He was the youngest seeker in a century to make the Gryffindor team,” Will recited dutifully.

 

“Da – he was a Gryffindor?” said Alex, surprised. He had never considered what house their father had been in.

 

Gabriel looked at him strangely. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

 

“Your dad teach you how to play, Potter?” the older boy pressed. “We’ve got a seeker, but we could always use some new talent on the pitch.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Connor Jones, Hufflepuff Team Captain.”

 

Will shook his hand politely and tried to think of some way to let them all down gently. “I’m not great with heights,” he said lamely.

 

Connor, Gabriel, and pretty much the rest of the guys, were disconsolate. Alex’s own enthusiasm could not be dampened, however.

 

“How do I learn to fly if I can’t have a broomstick?”

 

Connor looked at him properly for the first time. His eyes darted to Will, and then back again. His miserable expression turned thoughtful once more. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name…?”

 

“Sirius Summers,” Alex said, and then stopped abruptly, shocked at himself. Will was staring at him. “I mean, _argh_ , Alex. Everyone keeps calling me that; I’m starting to forget my own name!” He laughed brightly and they let it go.

 

“All first years get flying lessons.” Connor pointed to a notice pinned to the message board. “They start next week. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are on Monday. If you’re still interested in playing after that, come watch the team practice. You’ll learn the rules that way.”

 

+

 

“Everyone stand by a broomstick and wait for my instructions,” a silver-haired witch named Madame Hooch barked across the pitch. She had sharp eyes and a whistle around her neck. “Everyone ready? Right then! Extend your arm out over your broomstick and say, _UP!_ ”

 

She demonstrated enthusiastically.

 

Alex followed her instructions and his broom practically rocketed into his hand. Will’s responded quickly too, as did Gabriel’s, to no one’s surprise. Some of the other students were having a more difficult time of it. One Ravenclaw girl’s was flopping around like a fish.

 

“You have to be forceful, but kind!” Madame Hooch told them. “Some of these old brooms need a little extra coaxing. Try again, anyone who didn’t get it the first time.”

 

She moved between them, helping the students who were having trouble convincing their broomsticks to cooperate. Finally, _finally_ , everyone was ready.

 

“Swing a leg over and wait for my whistle!” Madame Hooch called. “I want you to kick off gently, rise to about five feet in the air, and then touch back down. On my mark – one, two, three –” She blew the whistle loudly.

 

Alex couldn’t help himself. He kicked off hard and shot upwards with a whoop of joy. Beside him, Gabriel followed suite. They passed the five foot mark, and then the fifteen, then the fifty, before half of the class had even left the ground.

 

“GENTLEMEN, RETURN TO EARTH!” Madame Hooch roared, blowing her whistle several times in quick succession.

 

They descended quickly, looking chagrined.

 

“Sorry, Ma’am,” Gabriel apologized profusely. “Got carried away.”

 

“Hmmm,” Madame Hooch said, eyeing his sharply. “Don’t let it happen again, Wood-Smythe! I don’t care if both your parents _are_ international Quidditch stars. When you’re on my pitch, you follow my rules.”

 

“That. Was _awesome_ ,” Alex breathed as she turned back to the rest of the class, eyes alight with pure elation. “Do you think she’ll let us race later?”

 

Gabriel looked like Alex had just announced that Christmas had come early and it was about to start raining puppies.

 

“Merlin, help me,” Will muttered, rolling his eyes skyward.

 

+

 

A few days after Alex’s initial broomstick-hysteria died down, Will received an invitation for tea.

 

“It’s from Hagrid,” he said, glancing up at the High Table. The bearded half-giant beamed and waved, accidentally knocking his neighboring professor off her chair with his exuberance.

 

“That guy!” Alex said, delighted. “Say yes! Oh, can I come?”

 

“He says I can bring a friend,” Will read off the parchment. “We should take Jareth. Maybe Hagrid can do something about the twitching.”

 

Alex winced. He had sort of forgotten about Uncle Andrew’s owl. “Good idea. Do you think he’ll be able to help?”

 

“Hagrid’s really good with animals,” Will assured him. He scrawled a hasty reply on the back of the message and sent it back.

 

It was a Saturday, so the plan was to meet at Hagrid’s hut for some tea and snacks.

 

“Just don’t touch the rock cakes,” Will warned. “He sends some every Christmas and they’re exactly like they sound.”

 

Since it was such a nice day, they spent most of the morning outside. Both boys had a decent work ethic and were of the joint mindset that it was best to get unavoidable tasks like homework out of the way as quickly as possible. They sat with a few of the other Hufflepuffs in one of the outdoor courtyards and dutifully wrote their charms essays for the following week. They were finally beginning on the theory for levitation charms and had been promised the practical lesson sometime before Halloween.

 

They ran into Amaryllis on their way to lunch, and learned that she, too, had received an invitation from Hagrid for tea but wasn’t bringing anyone with her. They made plans to walk down together that afternoon.

 

“Hagrid was friends with Mum and Dad, and Uncle Harry, when they were at Hogwarts,” Amaryllis explained to Alex as they walked across the grounds. “He’s really very sweet – he asks me round for tea once a month or so. I suppose I’ll have to take up Care of Magical Creatures next year.” She sighed. “I hope it won’t be too bad.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” said Alex. “I can’t wait for that class!”

 

“Hagrid’s not considered the best teacher,” Amaryllis told him. “He brings a lot of really dangerous animals to class. Sometimes they explode.”

 

Alex grinned, completely undeterred.

 

“I heard he’s gotten better,” Will said charitably. “He sends Dad his lesson plans sometimes, asking for advice.”

 

When they reached Hagrid’s hut, Amaryllis knocked loudly at the door. It swung open almost immediately to reveal a beaming Hagrid.

 

“Come in, come in!” he boomed, ushering them all inside. Alex only made it a few steps past the threshold before he was bowled over by a small polar bear.

 

“Esmeralda, get off! Let ‘im up!” Hagrid dragged the creature off of Alex.

 

“S’okay,” Alex gasped, winded and covered in drool. “Kind of like getting a hug from my Aunt Faith, only wetter!” He wiped the back of his shirt sleeve across his face.

 

Hagrid laughed uproariously and set about pouring them all tea. Esmeralda, who it turned out wasn’t a bear but the largest dog any of them had ever seen, with a lustrous yellow-white coat and gleaming black eyes, butted her head against Alex’s leg until he reached down to pet her.

 

To everyone’s relief, there were none of the infamous rock cakes. Unfortunately, Hagrid’s snap biscuits were similarly unpalatable and had to be pocketed for disposal at a later date. No one minded, and they all had a good time sitting around Hagrid’s scrubbed wooden table, listening as he spun tales of their parents when they were children at Hogwarts. Alex was particularly taken by the story of Norbert, the Norwegian Ridgeback, and Hagrid’s brief foray into the world of illegal egg smuggling.

 

“Err, forget I told yer about that,” Hagrid said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should never ‘ave taken those eggs. Don’t ye go gettin’ any ideas!”

 

All in all, it was a very pleasant way to pass the afternoon. When the sun finally began to set, Hagrid bundled them out the door with his assurances that he would take a look at Uncle Andrew’s poorly owl first thing in the morning, and a parcel each of extra biscuits for “a midnight snack if’n yer get hungry later.”

 

(It’s possible that they made a small detour to the lake, but if the Giant Squid had a taste for Hagrid’s baking, he wasn’t telling.)

 

+

 

_Dark leaves rustled whishwhishwhish all around. A strong wind moaned in the distance, muffled and distorted by the thick foliage._

_Will pushed forward, anxiety prickling at the back of his neck and curling into his gut. The small glow of his wand tip did little to illuminate the path ahead; the shadows and leaves and tree trunks all twisted together in the dark, and only the inconsistent shafts of moonlight that fell through breaks in the clouds and overhead vegetation gave him any sureness of footing._

_The deeper he went, the denser the forest seemed to become._

_A soft hissing hung on the air, rising up through the crunch of leaves and his own heavy breathing. Forward. He had to keep moving forward. He felt blindly for a gap in the branches as the moon slid back behind the clouds. He stumbled over the uneven ground, plummeting forward – and found himself held in place by strong fingers. He looked up wildly, and found himself staring into a pair of gleaming yellow eyes and –_

 

Will jolted awake with a gasp.

 

He lay on his back staring up in the dark. His skin felt hot and he was out of breath, his heart beating like he’d just run a marathon.

 

The _swoosh_ of curtains being drawn back.

 

“ _Lumos_ ,” a soft voice incanted.

 

Will looked to the bed beside his and met Alex’s worried gaze in the dim pool of wand light.

 

“The same dream again?”

 

Will nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. His throat was dry and scratchy. He grabbed the glass of water on his bedside table with shaking fingers and downed several gulps.

 

“That’s the third time,” Alex said. He kept his voice low so as not to wake the other boys. “Will…”

 

“I know,” Will sighed. “I think they’re trying to tell me something.”

 

Alex clambered across to Will’s bed and drew the curtains around them. “Have you always had dreams like this?”

 

“You believe me?” Will said in hushed surprise. He had always been careful to keep his strange dreams to himself for fear that others wouldn’t believe him.

 

“Mom sees things in her dreams, too,” Alex whispered. “Pro-prosthetic?”

 

“Prophetic. She – she does?”

 

“It’s a Slayer thing. Maybe you get them, too?”

 

“But you don’t,” Will said.

 

“No, but I can hear a lot better than you,” Alex said with a shrug.

 

Will looked at him funny. “What?”

 

“You weren’t making any noise or anything, just now,” Alex said. “But I could hear your heart beat. It woke me up.”

 

Will considered this, and the idea that maybe his crazy dreams weren’t so crazy after all. They were real. They came from his mother. They were something she had passed on to him, to Will alone.

 

Their conversation had disturbed Mr. Cat, and he emerged now from his second most preferred sleeping position under the covers at the foot of Will’s bed. He flopped down between them to allow for easy-access petting. Will obliged and rubbed his belly.

 

“We need to research,” Alex decided finally. “Come on, let’s go.”

 

“What, now?!”

 

“William, your funky dreams may hold the key to defeating the forces of darkness,” Alex said solemnly, doing his best Giles impression. “Plus,” he said in his normal voice, “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to check out the castle at night.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Will admitted, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed and reaching for his robe.

 

Alex grinned. “To the books!”

 

+

 

By this point, both boys would have sworn up and down that they could find the library blindfolded.

 

Unfortunately, things have a tendency to look very different at nighttime. This is especially true in enormous, magical castles, and Hogwarts was definitely the biggest, most magical.

 

They would have found it no problem if they hadn’t been forced to take a detour to avoid Peeves, the castle’s resident poltergeist, and then found the staircase they’d taken in their haste had moved off. Stuck in their new route, they quickly realized they were in a part of the castle they had never been in before. They thought they might be somewhere near the 6th floor, but that was a dubious guess as every staircase they came across seemed to be leading down. Will tried to do a navigational spell, but since neither of them knew which direction the library was actually in, it wasn’t very helpful.

 

“We are so lost,” Alex groaned.

 

“I think it’s left…” Will said uncertainly, looking back and forth down the hall.

 

“Did we try this one yet?” Alex asked, reaching for the knob on the door in front of them. It turned, but the door was stuck. “Give me a hand with this.”

 

“I don’t think we –”

 

The door came unstuck abruptly and Alex fell backwards into Will and knocked them both to the ground. He climbed off his brother and started to apologize when a movement behind him caught his eye and he spun around, immediately going on the defensive.

 

A petite woman with long, honey-blonde hair stepped out of the closet. She was carrying a bloodstained sword. Seeing him, she lowered her weapon and blinked in the dim wandlight. “Alex?”

 

“Mom?” Alex said in disbelief. “Mom, what are you – _Mom!_ ”

 

Buffy stumbled forward, clutching her chest. Beneath her fingers, a dark stain was spreading rapidly across her shirtfront. Her sword clattered to the floor. “ _Alex_ ,” she moaned, falling to her knees before them. “ _Help me…_ ”

 

To the boys’ horror, she collapsed and went still.

 

“ _MOM!_ ” Alex screamed, lunging forward. His foot caught on the hem of Will’s robe and he tripped. His head cracked sickeningly against the stone floor tears sprang to his eyes. He rolled away, seeing stars. He heard Will yelling his name, and then there was a flash of light and a loud _BANG!_. He scrambled blindly to his hands and knees, desperate to reach his mother.

 

“Calm down, Alex,” a new voice said, and someone larger than Will hauled him to his feet. It was Professor Longbottom.

 

“My mom!” he gasped, trying to break away.

 

“Shh, it wasn’t real,” Professor Longbottom soothed.

 

“What?” Tears of frustration were stinging Alex’s eyes. “I saw her! She was right there! She was dy-dying!” he hiccupped.

 

“Alex,” Professor Longbottom said firmly. “I promise you what you saw wasn’t real. It was a boggart. They’re a type of spirit that infests dark spaces. They assume the appearance of whatever you fear most. In my case, an old potions professor,” he tried to crack a joke.

 

“It wasn’t her,” Will said, but his voice was choked. “It wasn’t her,” he repeated.

 

Professor Longbottom looked from Alex, who was now clutching the front of his robes in a death grip, to Will, who was leaning against the wall, sheet white and visibly shaking. He realized that this was the most realistic image of Buffy Summers that Will had ever seen, and swallowed thickly. A blood-covered boggart was a terrible way to meet your mother.

 

“Come here,” he said softly, extending his free arm to pull Will into a hug. Will burrowed into his side as Alex buried his face in his chest. Professor Longbottom held them tightly until their breathing returned to normal, and then gently pulled away. “All right now?”

 

Alex wiped fiercely at his eyes and Will clenched his teeth.

 

“How do you kill it?” Alex demanded roughly.

 

“Laughter,” Professor Longbottom said with a wry smile. “There’s an incantation – you have to turn the

boggart into something you find humorous. But later. It’s gone now. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your dormitory.”

 

 

+

 

The boys sat in front of the dead fire in the common room for a long time before heading back up to bed.

 

“It looked so real,” Alex said, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

 

“She looked older than in the picture. Her hair was different.”

 

Alex looked up. “What picture?”

 

“The one Dad gave me of Mum. Don’t you have one of Dad?”

 

Alex shook his head. “Mom didn’t have one. I…I’ve never known what he looks like,” he said softly.

 

Will smiled a little. “Everyone says I – _we_ – look just like him, only without glasses.”

 

“Dad wears glasses?” Alex said in a tiny voice. He hadn’t known that. He wished he had known that.

 

“I’ll show you a picture in the morning,” Will promised. “Of him, and the whole family. I have tons. Dad’s very big on scrapbooking. I’ve even got pictures of our grandparents and a lot of other old people I’ve never met.”

 

“Mom only has a couple of Grandma Joyce,” Alex said regretfully. “She died before the old Hellmouth collapsed, and Mom lost most of her old stuff. She looks nice, though.” He perked up slightly. “And there’s still Giles! He’s like, the oldest person I know. He knows everything. I bet he’s heard of booger demons.”

 

“Boggarts,” Will corrected automatically.

 

Alex cracked a grin. “Yeah, I know. I like it my way better.” A thought occurred to him. “Was Professor Longbottom’s boggart really his potions professor?”

 

Will thought back. “I only saw it for a second,” he admitted. “But I don’t think so. It was definitely a person, but they were still lying on the ground, only…” He frowned, trying to remember. “I think their hair changed? Red, maybe? It was hard to see.”

 

“I guess it would be rude to ask,” Alex decided. “No one wants to talk about their worst fears.” He shuddered, remembering the sight of Buffy’s broken body. “I don’t think I could make up anything funny if I met that boggart again.”

 

Will, who until that evening couldn’t have said what his worst fear might be, now knew, without a doubt, that it was the thought of some demon getting to his mother before he ever got to meet her.

 

Neither of them dreamt well, that night.

 

 

 


	7. Of Specters and Spectators

Chapter Seven: Of Specters and Spectators 

_The one with Halloween_

 +

October 31st was upon them.

 

Alex had already spent quite a large portion of his childhood in a spooky old castle in Scotland prior to learning he was a wizard, but the New Council had a distinctly apathetic outlook on Halloween festivities, so they’d never taken much advantage of their spooky surroundings when it came to decoration. As a general rule, while the rest of the world went out to revel on All Hallow’s Eve, the supernatural community stayed in – and although they served that community’s role of judge, jury, and mainly executioner, the New Council was, without a doubt, supernatural through and through.

 

Most of the family had an aversion to dressing up anyways, and for good reason. (Although there had been that one year when everyone dressed as Buffy, citing that as the self-proclaimed thing monsters had nightmares about, she was the scariest thing they could think of. Buffy had not been impressed, but still saved the photographs of Giles wearing a blonde wig and fashionable stiletto boots for later blackmail usage.)

 

Will was typically take-it-or-leave-it on the matter, which stemmed no doubt from their father’s own view on the holiday. October 31st marked the death date of Harry’s parents, and Halloween had really been hit or miss with him ever since.

 

But Hogwarts really went _all out_.

 

The usual floating candles in the Great Hall had been replaced with purple and black spiral tapers that burned with thin, orange flames; and hundreds of live bats swirled and fluttered above them. The moon was only half full, but the sky was clear and bright with stars.

 

The Halloween feast was approximately 50% sugar, 50% pumpkin, but there was spiced apple cider so the latter wasn’t much of a bother to the twins, and they chatted and feasted quite happily.

 

All of the castle’s resident ghosts seemed to have turned out for the evening, which had both a chilling and eerie effect on the Hall as they moved transparently between the tables.

 

The Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff House Ghost (It was kind of like having a creepy mascot. But not nearly as creepy as the Bloody Baron, Slytherin’s ghost, whose name, in this case, referred to the silvery blood staining his robes and was in no way a comment on his skills at writing verse*.) was particularly chatty that evening.

 

“My aunt was a ghost, once,” Alex told him conversationally as he nibbled the edge of a frosted cat-shaped cookie.

 

“Really?” The Fat Friary was intrigued. “Tell her to stop by for a spell if she’s ever in the area. I can show her all of the best haunts. Did you see what I did there? Stop by for a _spell_!” He threw his head back and laughed a great, belly-jiggling laugh.

 

“Oh, she got better,” said Alex.

 

Nearly Headless Nick, Gryffindor’s ghost, stopped so abruptly in the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables that several students screeched as they walked through him by mistake. “Impossible!” he spluttered. “There is no _getting better_.”

 

(It was common knowledge that Nearly Headless Nick was highly dissatisfied with his spectral status, on account of his botched beheading, which remained the point of contention denying him entrance to the famed Headless Hunt.)

 

“It was a Hellmouth thing,” Alex told him apologetically. “She wasn’t really dead in the first place.”

 

“This Hellmouth made her corporeal?” Nick said, totally ignoring the rest.

 

“Oh, no,” the Fat Friar said quickly. “That’s dark magic, Nicholas!”

 

“I haven’t been able to perform magic in five hundred and twenty-four years,” Nick said with a sniff. He adjusted his neck ruff. “Dark or otherwise.”

 

“The Hellmouth is a swirling portent of dark, mystical energies,” the Fat Friar said with a shudder. “You know what a place like that does to spirits. Imagine the Forbidden Forest, but a hundred times worse!”

 

Alex, who had imagined the Forbidden Forest often in his spare time, opened his mouth to ask what could only be an insensitive and flippantly morbid question, but Will elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

 

“Don’t even think it,” he warned his brother.

 

“Listen to the boy, Nick,” the Fat Friar pleaded. “Do not seek out the Mouth of Hell.”

 

“As if I could if I wanted to,” Nick said snidely. “I am tethered to this castle just as you are, Friar. Now, if you will excuse me…”

 

He floated off unhappily, all doom and gloom.

 

“I think I hurt his feelings,” Alex said sadly, watching him go.

 

“Sir Nicholas gets himself in a bit of a tiff, at times,” the Fat Friar assured him. “Think nothing of it, lad.”

 

“I would hate to be stuck as a ghost,” Will said, shivering. “Er, sorry, Friar.”

 

The Fat Friar smiled reassuringly and patted his shoulder. It was a largely unsuccessful gesture, and left Will feeling like he’d stuck his entire arm in a bucket of ice. The portly spirit moved on down the table.

 

“What’s a Hellmouth?” Lizzie Mortlake, the girl who had two wizard fathers, leaned around an enormous plate of candied apples to join their conversation.

 

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Alex adopted a dramatic voice. “Demons, vampires, evil spirits…”

 

“Dark wizards?”

 

“The worst kind imaginable,” Will confirmed gravely, despite never having set foot on a Hellmouth.

 

“Blimey!” one of the other children whispered. They were all wide eyed and completely agog.

 

“They don’t cover Hellmouths in your first year of Defense,” Connor Jones, the seventh year Quidditch captain Alex had befriended through showing up to every Hufflepuff team practice, put in from a little ways down the table, where he and couple of his friend had been shamelessly listening in ever since the Friar, an extremely popular storyteller, ‘sat down’. “In fact, they don’t cover them at all. I only recognize the word because I’m writing a term paper on mystical convergences and their effect on spell casting.”

 

“I’m descended from a long line of demon hunters,” Alex boasted truthfully. “My family used to live on the worst Hellmouth of them all.”

 

(This was still up for debate. Hellmouths, when you got right down to it, were all pretty awful.)

 

One of Connor’s friends snorted derisively. “I don’t believe you.”

 

“Show him,” Will said authoritatively.

 

Alex fished around inside his robes, and produced a handsomely carved stake, a cross, and a tiny water pistol.

 

“My mother slayed _hundreds_ of vampires with this stake,” Alex told his captive audience. “You see this symbol carved into the handle? It stands for protection. This one means strength.”

 

“Carla, you study Ancient Runes,” said Conner, gesturing to the stake.

 

Carla, a slender teen with olive skin and dark, wavy hair that fell to her waist, accepted the stake from Alex and inspected the carvings. “He’s right,” she said after a moment, handing it back. “The form’s a bit unusual, but altogether it basically reads _May you never bend nor break, and may thy aim be true._ Roughly.”

 

“That doesn’t prove anything,” the same boy said peevishly.

 

Alex squirted him in the face with his water pistol. The boy spluttered and wiped at his eyes.

 

“What was that for?” he demanded crossly.

 

“Holy water. If you were a vampire, your face would be _melting off_.” Alex tugged back the collar of his robes and showed them all the juncture of his neck. Will helpfully lit the tip of his wand and directed the light so they could all see the pale, circular scars that stood slightly raised against Alex’s skin. Everyone gasped.

 

“It was a dark and stormy night,” Alex began his tale dramatically. “Most vampires wouldn’t _dare_ even look at me, because they know that if they did, my family would come after them. But this one did. He tied me up with my own shoelaces and dragged me off to his underground nest. He was huge – almost as big as Hagrid – and his accent was so thick, you could barely understand a word he was saying.”

 

“Cooperate or I vill suck your blood,” Will recited, adopting a thick Transylvanian accent.

 

“But _I_ knew he was going to kill me anyways, because he hadn’t eaten for _three days_ and vampires go crazy if they don’t get blood. I fought back –”

 

“Even though you were tied up?”

 

“ – because he forgot to tie up my legs. I managed to kick him in the balls, but he was too strong. He bit down on my neck, and was about to drain me dry, when BANG!”

 

 – They all jumped –

 

“He suddenly exploded into a cloud of dust! My family had tracked him to his lair, and killed the minions he had guarding the entrance. And then my mother, the fiercest vampire slayer who ever lived, snuck up behind him and staked him, right through the heart before he even realized she was there.” Alex held his stake aloft triumphantly. “And this is the very stake she used to do it!”**

 

(This was all a downright lie. Alex had never been bitten by a vampire. The scars on his neck were from a particularly nasty case of the chicken pox when he was eight.)

 

But even Connor’s friend was impressed by the story. Alex and Will exchanged identical smirks. Maybe Halloween wasn’t so bad after all.

 

 

+

 

The first Quidditch match of the season was Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor, and even Will was excited.

 

“It’s not that I don’t like _Quidditch_ ,” he explained when everyone looked at him oddly for coming to breakfast dressed head to toe in canary yellow. It contrasted fantastically with his coal black hair. “I’m just not keen on flying.”

 

“Barmy,” Gabriel said, shaking his head.

 

“Oh, give it a rest, Gabe,” Lizziesighed.

 

“I don’t like flying either but I love watching the games,” her best friend, a painfully shy girl named Emory James, told Will hesitantly. “My dad always takes me in the summer.”

 

Will smiled encouragingly and gave her a yellow Hufflepuff flag to wave.

 

“Good to see house spirit!” Nina Koh, a 5th year and the team’s keeper, said as she passed their end of the table. “Hey, aren’t you that kid who’s always watching us practice? Connor’s friend?”

 

Will shook his head and everyone pointed to Alex and Gabriel.

 

“I saw you practicing on the pitch last weekend,” she said. “You two play for any of the junior leagues?”

 

“I did,” said Gabriel, “but Summers never even saw a broomstick before school started!”

 

“I did, too,” Alex protested. “But we used them for sweeping the floor.”

 

“Really?” Nina was surprised. “That was some nice flying – more power than finesse, but you’ve got potential. Hope to see you on the team next year!”

 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Will warned Alex as Nina moved on.

 

“Good luck!” Gabriel called after her enthusiastically.

 

“Shut up and eat your breakfast before I do,” Alex groused, punching Will on the arm.

 

Everyone laughed, and tucked in.

 

+

 

They got to the pitch early to get good seats, and were lucky they did, for the whole school seemed to have turned out for the event.

 

Hélène Weasley appeared just as the match was about to get under way. They scooted aside to make space.

 

“Everyone else is rooting for Gryffindor,” she explained, wedging herself between Will and Alex. “We’ve never had a Hufflepuff in the family. I thought I’d help even things out.”

 

Even across the pitch, it was easy to pick the Weasley red out of the crowd.

 

“It’s about to begin!” Alex was bouncing in his seat. Below on the pitch, the team captains shook hands.

 

“I’m almost surprised Dad and Uncle Ron haven’t shown up,” Will mused. “They love Hogwarts games.”

 

“If any of us were playing, they would,” Hélène assured them. “They never missed one of Teddy’s matches. But I guess there’s always next year.” She winked at Alex. “I wonder how Uncle Harry will feel, rooting against his old team? Still, Hufflepuff’s better than Slytherin.” She adjusted her green headband.  

 

Instead of looking pleased at the implication that he was a shoo in for the Hufflepuff team, Alex’s expression took on a guilty edge.  “If he knew I existed.”

 

“You still haven’t told him?” Hélène said in surprise. “What about your mum?”

 

“We wanted to,” Will began.

 

“But what if they try to keep us apart?” said Alex.

 

“Then I’d never get to know Mum –”

 

“ – and I’ll be stuck with a bunch of old newspaper clippings of Dad.”

 

“Why don’t you switch places?” Hélène suggested.

 

They stared at her.

 

“What?”

 

“How?”

 

“You’re identical twins,” Hélène reminded them, raising her eyebrows. “All you have to do is switch places at King’s Cross. Alex can come with us, and Will can go with your mum. Even if they find out eventually and try to keep you apart, at least you’ll get to spend Christmas with your other parent.”

 

Will and Alex looked at each other. 

 

“Why didn’t _we_ think of that?”

 

“Are you lot done gabbing?” Gabriel demanded from the row behind them. “The match is about to – THEY’RE OFF! WHEW LOOK AT THAT SNITCH GO!”

 

+

 

Hufflepuff lost the match by ten points, but Alex and Will had something new to think about.

 

“Let’s do it,” Will said abruptly as they made their way back to the dorms.

 

“Yeah?” Alex looked at him sideways. “You think we can pull it off?” His usual bravado was nowhere to be found.

 

“We’ve got to,” Will said with fierce determination. “We’ve absolutely got to.”

 

Alex nodded sharply. “Okay.” He paused. “We’re going to have to work on our accents.”

 

“So not a problem,” Will said, imitating Alex perfectly.

 

Alex made a face. “Show off.”

 

While Gabe and the rest of the Hufflepuffs moped around the Common Room, the twins retreated to the boys’ dormitory. Out came Will’s photo albums, Alex’s family mementos, a pile of trinkets and personal bits and bobs, and the entirety of Alex’s weapon collection.

 

They each got out a roll of parchment and freshly sharpened quills, and sat poised to begin taking notes.

 

“We should start with family trees,” Will decided. “If we forget anyone’s name, we’re finished.”

 

“And floor plans,” said Alex. “We’ll look stupid if we get lost in our own houses.” He paused. “I really hope we’re having Christmas at home, this year. Scotland HQ is a nightmare to draw.”

 

“Write Mum and ask,” Will instructed, beginning a To-Do list. “I’ll find out from Dad who’s coming for Christmas this year. We’ll have to let the rest of the kids in on our plan. It was Hélène’s idea, and they’ll be able to tell the difference.”

 

He made a note to call a family meeting.

 

“I’m going to have to teach you the Scooby Dance,” Alex realized. “It’s crucial.”

 

Will wrote this down as well, and added an asterisk.

 

 

+

 

“I’m just not sure this is the best way to go about things,” Max said later, after Will and Alex had told the Weasley contingent their plan to swap lives for Christmas. At seventeen, he considered it his responsibility as the eldest to be the voice of reason.

 

Hélène frowned at her older brother. “Don’t be a spoil sport, Max.”

 

“This was your idea,” he accused. “I haven’t forgotten all of the times you and Elise used to switch places to get your way.”

 

“Used to?” A faint hint of a French accent crept into Hélène’s voice. “Max, Max, Max.” She shook her strawberry-blonde head. “What makes you think we stopped?”

 

“Shove off, Hel. I know it’s you.”

 

“I think it’s great!” said Amaryllis, laughing gaily. “I’ll help! Ooh, wait till you taste Gram’s cooking, Al!”

 

“Count us in,” Selene added, including Grace.

 

“It would serve a type of poetic justice,” Rosaline said thoughtfully.

 

“I guess I’m outnumbered,” Max said grudgingly. He ran a hand over his short, coppery hair and worried at his bottom lip. “But if this blows up in your faces, don’t expect me to bail you out!”

 

“What could go wrong?” Hélène demanded. “So Uncle Harry figures out he’s got the wrong kid. What’s he gonna do? Make Alex degnome the garden?”

 

“De-what the garden?” Alex repeated, scrunching up his face in confusion.

 

“See?” Max waved a hand in the twins’ direction. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. They may look alike, but no one is going to believe he’s Will! Someone’s bound to get hurt before this is over.”

 

“This could be our only chance,” Will said seriously. “I’ve never even met my mother. Alex didn’t even know he was a wizard until August. It’s not fair.”

 

“ _Please_ , Max,” Alex beseeched. “You don’t have to do anything. Just call me Will.”

 

“Fine.” Max held up his hands in defeat. “I said I’ll go along with it. But it’s going to be obvious sooner or later. You can’t learn everything by Christmas.”

 

“We have a month,” Will said. “That’s plenty of time.”

 

“I’m good at making stuff up,” Alex said with a shrug. “And everyone in my family’s so crazy, no one’s going to notice if Will does something weird by mistake.”

 

“Alex will have all of you lot –”

 

“And Will will have Mr. Cat! – ”

 

“And it’s only for two weeks,” Will concluded.

 

“Oh, and by the way?” Alex said, rounding out his vowels. “I’m Will.”

 

“Oh my god, we totally fooled you!” the real Alex crowed, doubling over with laugher.

 

“What?!” The Weasleys stared at the pair of them. Alex’s hair was perfectly combed and parted, and for once his tie was neat and in order. He had Will’s school bag slung over his shoulder. Will, on the other hand, was wearing Alex’s robes and familiar cocky smile, and was even holding his brother’s wand.

 

“Oh, you’re good,” Hélène said, smiling broadly.

 

Max sat down, completely thrown. He cleared his throat.  “This actually might work.”

 

 

* * *

 

*The Bloody Baron was actually co-founder of the Spectral Sonneteers, which met every third Tuesday of the month.  

 

**The scene at the Halloween Feast, where Alex tells everyone about the vampire that bit his neck, was partly inspired by the passage in The Golden Compass/The Northern Lights (book version), where Lyra amazes the other children with an elaborate story of how Lord Asriel tricked the visiting Turkish Ambassador into drinking his own poison.

 

(As an aside, if you’ve never listened to the audio book recording of the ‘His Dark Materials’ series, do it now. It’s a fantastic, full-cast recording, and Joanna Wyatt did a phenomenal job of capturing Lyra’s voice.)

 

 


End file.
